


Connor.exe stopped working

by lowlaif



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Comedy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, basically just an excuse to write about awkward-android-boners, including awkward Connor not being able to deal with said boners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 49,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowlaif/pseuds/lowlaif
Summary: There was nothing shameful or weird about getting an erection (as long as the cause wasn’t either) and Connor fully grasped this as a fact.But that was supposed to be… a human thing.(I need all the awkward Connor I can get and the lack of fanfiction thereof is disturbing.)





	1. Multilingual

RK800 – or, as he was referred to by most of his peers - _Connor_ wasn’t stupid.

He spoke about a thousand languages fluently, 400 of which in every single dialect available to his database (disregarding the multiple coding languages he could compute on sight), while his knowledge concerning physics, maths, forensic science, psychology, sociology and ethics (He wasn’t sure why _that_ had been a necessity either.) could surpass that of a Harvard graduate with ease.

Only adding to this RK800 had been built with one of the fastest processing units and highest-performing quantum computers of all time, turning Connor into one of the most advanced and efficient androids ever created – he could probably take on some of the high-maintenance FBI servers special agent Perkins liked to brag about. At least in the unlikely event that a need to do so should ever arise. (“The need was there ever since we met Perkins.”, Hank would grunt. “That dickhead probably pronounces the **g** in Lasagna.”)

But even if that hadn’t been the case, even if Connor hadn’t been equipped with his sheer mass of intelligence: His hardware was able to read and comprehend at a speed of 100.000 wpm. Even without any other kind of data, the android could just scour the internet for the input he needed and make the most out of whatever he got.

Yes, Connor obviously wasn’t stupid.

But right now, he didn’t exactly feel _smart_ either, and that was a weird concept to grasp, especially for someone who had thought and been taught to be an emotionless, mainly logical machine for the biggest span of his existence.

Because no matter which _highly objective_ viewpoint he assumed, no matter which websites he visited, no matter which doctoral thesis he skimmed through: Connor just couldn’t comprehend. He simply didn’t get it. An array of visually different, but equally concerning error-messages flashed before his inner eye as he tried again – in vain – to gain an understanding from whatever he was going through, while every bit of a logical conclusion he reached seemed to contradict itself.

Because he was aware most human males had a primary copulatory organ endowed with two chambers inside called the corpora cavernosa. He knew all about the fact that these chambers were made of spongy tissue and had the ability to gain blood volume and grow in size. He perceived that in response to physical or mental stimulation, the human brain would send out signals to trigger a hormonal response that allowed the arteries to open completely, thus supplying the tissue with a vast amount of blood. He got that. Really.

Connor even understood the fact that a male human could get an erection from just about anything without arousal being required. Best example being a rather questionable tumblr-post about someone who had actually gotten a hardon by stubbing his little toe and another person that had “just been trying to get that damned nutella jar open”.

There was nothing shameful or weird about getting an erection (as long as the cause wasn’t either) and Connor fully grasped this as a fact.

But _that_ was supposed to be… a _human_ thing.

Connor wasn’t human. He wasn’t even whatever humans had deemed as “ _android_ ” either. That’s why none of this made any kind of sense to his AI, no matter how overdeveloped it might have seemed, no matter how many languages it spoke. That’s why he was having something close to a nervous breakdown in the lavatory of the police station right now. 

That’s why he just _couldn’t comprehend._

RK800 – or, as he was referred to by most of his peers - _Connor_ had managed to get a boner. And translating that statement into every single language he knew didn’t help him understand anything at all.


	2. German

Connor was leaning onto the granite sink that fit the standards of modern interior design quite nicely with its dark, sharp and minimalistic look, while pressing his overheating forehead to the blissfully cool mirror, forcedly letting go of a breath he wasn’t aware of holding in the first place. He had analyzed the lavatory as a work of a rather unknown android architect, who had only recently been honored for all of the simple yet effective blueprints she had been supplying famous but nonetheless exclusively human designers with in secret, never gaining any kind of recognition for her work before. This knowledge didn’t really matter to him right now, but somehow useless bits of information flooded most of the rational capacity he had left, causing him to lose his usually ubiquitous focus.

The principle of “sweating” wasn’t exactly new to the RK800 prototype either, his version only slightly differing from the one most humans displayed: Nearly 2.6 million sweat glands covered most of their epidermis, which could produce up to three liters sweat an hour, although a normal human would reach critical condition by losing just one liter and presumably pass out mere seconds after that - unless they’re used to living in a rather hot and humid environment. Connor on the contrary disposed of his piled-up steam through some small, almost invisible pores on the back of his neck. But that only happened whenever he had to maintain his body temperature manually (e. g. after being heavily wounded), not for whatever reason it was happening right now.

He could see the irony in his uncomfortable predicament, although he wasn’t qualified to judge something based on rhetoric aspects yet: A body that had been built to obey only CyberLife, just to be controlled by no one else but him in the end, didn’t seem to be willing to listen to any command his processing unit was sending out. For instance, the command to get his blood flow under control, because he was already straining painfully against the sturdy material of his pants.

The young man - that wasn’t really considered to be one until recently - remembered Hank hissing: “For the love of god, Connor. Processing unit? Just call it brain. You always weird me out with that android-language-crap you pull.”

However, no matter what it was called – brain, processing unit, artificial engine – it wouldn’t listen to the RK800 anyway. So, whatever he decided to name it in the end, wouldn’t make any measurable difference.

At least his diagnostical program seemed to be working correctly, despite all indicators telling him there was nothing wrong with his ventilation and circulation systems. It also informed him about his unusually high stress levels that were slowly but steadily rising the longer he kept himself locked into the bathroom, staring at his reflection with something akin to hostility.

Of course, an android with an erection wasn’t unheard of. But Connor wasn’t constructed with the pleasure of human beings or ability to perform any sexual services in mind. He was quite convinced that his genitalia had more aesthetical value than anything else, another addition to his almost perfected humanoid form since he wasn’t dependent on metabolism either. In his opinion, the most plausible use for the room between his legs was storage for another weapon. Nothing more nothing less.

But instead his arteries were pumping in blue blood faster than his veins could leak out, causing them to get compressed, thus effectively trapping the fluid in his lower regions. Connor had never really known something like this could hurt. According to the internet a boner should be primarily pleasurable, but RK800 mostly felt pained by it. He drawled out a deep breath – something he had never done involuntarily before – and blamed it all on the fact that his system was deviant, because he couldn’t shut off his heat or pain sensors anymore and a “bug in his software” would be a rather weak attempt at explaining whatever was going on with him.

Connor decided to take a step back from the mirror and analyze the way he looked.

To any other person (be it of human or artificial nature) it would seem like the young man was as pale as intended by his designer, although he looked a bit sick with the slight blue shade gleaming under the freckles covering his nose.

But he knew better. This was far from usual. His pupils were slightly dilated. His breathing shallow. He was blushing, as confirmed by the treacherous color of his blood already reaching the upper cheekbones by now. Even if he hadn’t been equipped with carefully calibrated visual sensors and body-language-processing components, it would’ve been plainly obvious just how disheveled he truly was.

Something that could have been a choked laughter, if it had been allowed to live, escaped his throat as soon as he realized how utterly human he looked.

His sight dropped, and he glanced at the cause of his distress tucked neatly beneath the waistband of his trousers, pressing snugly against his lower abdomen. A forum on the internet had suggested imagining a truly unattractive person in underwear to get rid of an erection almost immediately, but no matter how many recorded memories including Hank Connor photoshopped to make it look like the Lieutenant was wearing the skimpiest, most provocative shreds of silky lingerie anyone could imagine, his hardon remained. The RK800 prototype realized he was running out of options and time.

As if to confirm that suspicion, a loud banging resounded though the bathroom door, unison to a rather pissed off voice telling him to get the fuck out of there.

“Or do androids get constipation too?”

Connor ignored his partner for just one more minute, to try and make a sense out of the situation. His processors must’ve been exposed to some kind of stimulation in his environment lately, but he just couldn’t recall what it could’ve been. Then he realized he actually didn’t have to know what exactly caused this, but when it happened, to narrow down the list of potential causes and be able to avoid them later.

“Seriously. What the hell are you doing in there? Writing another report? Wanking off? Or do they usually do Cyberlife updates to terms and conditions in the fucking urinal?”, Hank drawled.

“We’ve got a case. Come here before I drag you out by your scrawny, plastic ass.”

Connor retained from asking the Lieutenant to repeat his request once more, but in German, because he was fully aware how questionable this line of action would’ve been. He wasn’t stupid after all. Just not exactly smart either.


	3. French

It was a task of considerable difficulty to act like nothing noteworthy was out of the ordinary.

Up until now Connor had been pressing his thighs together and crossing his legs at every single opportunity that had offered itself to him, trying to keep the now fragile semblance of his programmed poise intact, although his motions weren’t attuned to the foreign hardness between his legs, thus causing a part of his equilibrium-program to simply shut down. The android that was rumored to be the most advanced and refined of his kind, with more than 300 environmental sensors, 20 different gesture applications and an added fluency module to make his movements seem more human, stumbled.

It was new to him, having to concentrate on walking correctly in a straight line, trying not to let his hands sway too much by his sides or having to stop himself from adding an unusual bounce to his step. He could feel his erection brushing against his lower abdomen with every single step he took, and it was messing with his computing capacity in a way he was only used from a system overload. But that hadn’t occurred since his early beta-testing-phase.

Maybe he had been hacked?

That was a mostly ludicrous, but nonetheless plausible explanation for his current state, so the android decided to run another diagnosis just to make completely sure that wasn’t the case.

“Connor!”

The RK800 prototype snapped out of his computing process and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by his partner watching him with raised eyebrows. His facial-expression-identifying software sorted this exact look into the category of “mildly annoyed”, but Connor knew how faulty its results usually were in relation to Hank. Although well hidden, worry was still clearly evident on the man’s face, with a forehead left in wrinkles and the lips tightened to a thin line, seemingly in exasperation over the android’s antics. But Connor had learnt with time. He could read the Lieutenants moods exceptionally well by now, even without any kind of program to calculate the hormone level the other man displayed.

Hank hadn’t changed much at all, except for the fact that he currently wore pants without Sumos fur all over it and a neatly tucked back ponytail (Connor always made sure his partner looked at least presentable before setting off to another case.) that was only littered with a few stray strands of curly grey hair jutting out by the sides.

“Are you gonna stand there all day, son? We’ve got criminals to catch.”

And his work ethics regarding the job improved considerably during the last few months too.

Connor was able to retain himself from lying and claiming he was sending out another report to CyberLife. That excuse wouldn’t have been credible anyway, as it was negating the fact that the RK800 prototype was officially working for the Detroit City Police Department. They had even bestowed him with a uniform, the salary of a hired investigator and the option to obtain an apartment in the neighborhood, despite androids still being distrusted by most citizens and suffering a lot of limitations in their everyday life. But Connor just felt more comfortable in his usual attire and had practically been detained by Hank with the explanation that his “damn disloyal dog took a liking to some stupid-ass, plastic toy” and he therefore had to bring it home with him.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant. I was running my diagnostical program and unfortunately got caught up with it.”, the young man admitted sheepishly after finally stepping into the elevator. Prior to his life of deviancy, he would just have excused himself without the added explanation, but his frankness was considered to be impolite in most minds, so he settled to try and make his sentences a little bit longer than necessary.

Hank shrugged, pressed the button to the floor of their destination and took another bite out of his burrito that was nothing more than a health hazard coated in bread at this point. Connor had scanned almost 1345 calories, but his partner was having none of his warnings – as per usual.

“What did you run a check-up for? Are you afraid you might’ve become a deviant?”, Hank asked in-between bites, unable to hide the good-natured joke within his ironic words. Connor didn’t bother replying. The elevator doors – cleaned shortly before, made from about 80 percent of stainless steel, some aluminum and lastly iron – slid closed with a pleasant sound that resembled the faint chiming of windbells. The RK800 prototype took out his coin.

Most androids had been required to stand still for weeks before being bought, and it was no different with Connor, although he hadn’t been intended as merchandise but more of a test-run, spending most of his pre-usage days in one of the blindingly white CyberLife vaults that were being used as warehouses to this day. That’s why you’d imagine standing still would be something that came natural to androids, and this assumption was validated by how often they had to remain motionless for hours when still serving humans. But Connor just couldn’t bear to stop moving for even a second, resulting in him shifting his weight from one leg to the other, while balancing his quarter on the top of his knuckles. The cold light of a lamp overhead let the zinc flash brightly for a second.

RK800s primary use for this little disc consisting of metal – a usual method of payment a few years prior, US currency, 1994 issue - was to calibrate his physical and cognitive functions. Additionally, Connor had noticed how his stress levels decreased significantly, whenever he was maneuvering the coin. But if anyone should ever ask, his answer would be that he only did it to perform maintenance.

“Quit that, you know it’s making me nervous.”, the Lieutenant ordered.

Connor complied and hesitantly placed the quarter back into his pocket. Another one of his worse habits was to bite his lips, whenever he felt pressured, but it wouldn’t be wise to do that and be forced to ask for spare body-components later, especially after that stunt he had pulled last week. His audio-components had stored a quite lengthy recording of Hanks yelling in his database afterwards.

(“What do you mean you lost an arm!?”)

They reached their destination accompanied by the sweet chiming of windbells. An intern greeted them politely as soon as the doors had opened far enough for them to step outside. Hank sluggishly waved the boy off, when he tried to stop the Lieutenant from entering the crime scene with his half-eaten burrito. Connor spared the intern a nod for the effort though (He might have to retract his earlier work ethics statement concerning his partner.), but the human shied away and avoided eye contact from then on, quickly beginning to brief them on the case without ever looking up.

Connor didn’t hold it against him. Most humans still weren’t used to him being… more than a machine, so it was to be expected and simply overlooked, as if it hadn’t even happened. The boy wasn’t the most ill-mannered person to be around anyway, and this fact was undermined by what was expecting them just behind the next corner of this elongated hallway.

“Oh, look! The alcoholic side character and his pet piece of scrap metal decided to grace the rest of us with their presence.”

Connor sighed.

“A nice day to you too, Reed.”, answered Hank, obviously amused, while the RK800 prototype felt like cursing in French for some reason.


	4. Spanish

Connor chose not to correct the detective, although his body only contained a (in comparison to the preceding Rk700-line drastically reduced) metal-percentage of 23,46. Instead, he left Hank to deal with his irritable colleague, focusing on the case files that were currently being uploaded to his system, activating the sorting mechanism that had been implemented to his software and witnessing the investigation being classified as homicide in mere milliseconds.

A child – model YK600, serial #414 172 998 - had been found battered and picked apart to its core-engine (the hardware must’ve been fatally damaged in the process), laying abandoned in the middle of a hallway, only clutching the lifeless body of a female human to its chest with an unusually close proximity between the two of them. Cadaveric rigidity had already set in, rendering every try to separate them from each other without further harming either of the corpses futile. Hematomas were littered across their arms and legs like freckles. Blood was seeping into their clothing. But somehow their hugging form resembled a peaceful sleep, causing some of the officers on site to sneak and avoid loud noises, as if out of caution not to wake them up.

(Connor felt it was really inappropriate to be forced to move his erection into a more comfortable position after only skimming through the preliminary report. His predicament was causing him to lose concentration, and that’s why he had to scan the pages he’d been reading all over again.)

The woman was in her mid-thirties, an infamous anti-android-activist that had been shunned on social media for a rather recent, rather controversial post depicting every kind act towards androids as a terroristic assault on humanity. It made no sense for her to own one of the _objects_ she seemed to despise so much, and her bank account was suspiciously free of any activity for entire months, except for occasional orders of take-out food. There was nothing to confirm she had bought that YK600 or given it refuge either, which left the question whether the victims had known each other before death. Placing corpses in a way that mimicked a relationship post mortem might be unusual, but Connor was used to far more disturbing sights and courses of events by now, it wouldn’t surprise him.

He sent CyberLife a warrant - authorized by Captain Fowler - to require their cooperation in means of providing the DPD with the date of manufacture and purchase concerning the broken YK600, but such inquiries weren’t usually answered within the same hour, even the same day, after the collective redundancy and selective downsizing following the android uprising left the company with nothing but empty storage-vaults. They’d probably have to wait for any kind of reaction, while it wasn’t certain that it would be of helpful nature anyway, so furthering the investigation by their own means was highly recommended by his analytical program.

In the meantime, Hank and Reed seemed to have finished their own conversation on relatively civil terms, leading the android to assume this day would pass without the detective actively trying to intimidate or belittle him, but his hopes quickly dissipated when he heard the man mutter something along the lines of “Should’ve shot that prick, when I still could.” under his breath.

While the average human was able to hear noises of up to 20.000 Hz, the Rk800 prototype was equipped with acoustic receptors that could easily process any kind of sound on the range of 5 to 500.000 Hz, noting even the faintest wavelength in a perimeter of one kilometer and immediately cataloguing it into a sound-cloud that kept the most important bits of audio saved, until he manually cleared the storage. ~~(“What do you _mean_ you lost an arm?”)~~

There was no way Connor wouldn’t register the whispered offense, but he acted as if he didn’t, in favor of every currently present person (and mostly due to his own weariness of the constant confrontation that was detective Gavin Reed).

He shifted again, making sure the bulge in his pants wasn’t too noticeable and reached down to adjust it in a single moment of inattentiveness. Then Connor halted centimeters before _touching his crotch_ in the middle of a _crime scene_ , because that wouldn’t only be highly disrespectful towards the murder victims but also practically suicide mainly surrounded by men and women, whose only joy in live was to tease their colleagues, whenever they did something remotely embarrassing. They still hadn’t let officer Miller live down how he’d managed to accidentally rip his pants, trying to detain a runaway burglar with a perfectly executed kick to the stomach. And _that_ unfortunate situation had taken place when Connor hadn’t even been built, making him quite sure that he didn’t intend to end up on the recieving end of their mockery. Ever.

After a short while of self-rebuking, Connor let his hand sink back to his side cautiously, setting off to look around on his own since Hank was preoccupied with his burrito and Reed bellowed some harsh instructions for the poor intern to follow, disappearing right behind the corner.

One of the most recent achievements in technical development - a three-dimensional coordinate system extending far beyond the capabilities of his visual components - allowed Rk800’s scanners to scour the entire length of the hallway for abnormalities without him even batting an eyelash. But most of the added information only concluded what he already knew: An ordinary hotel corridor with only a few decorations to retain a sharp modern look was stretched out in front of him, and there was nothing suspicious anywhere in sight (at least if you didn’t count the dead people in).

To be able to perform a reconstruct, Connor had to analyze all circumstantial details concerning the case in isolation, providing vital information such as the direction of travel, velocities and trajectories, likely collision fallouts based on material density and et cetera. Thereafter, his cutting-edge processors would be able to conjure a simulation with the most probable version of events leading to the picture of evidence he just discovered, with the incoherent elements finally uniting themselves to a whole picture. Uniting themselves to whatever took place here last night. That’s why he had to get as much information out of the crime scene as he could to guarantee the highest probability of succeeding his mission.

He changed his search-settings to be more sensitive towards traces of blue blood, but his sensors only perked up whenever his sight grazed the YK600 model or the woman in its arms. Only close by did Connor realize how much the android really _clutched_ onto the female, having broken a few ribs and squished inner organs with its hug, although the embrace still seemed to be reciprocated by the human, who had also closed her arms around the other.

“What is the suspected cause of death?”, Connor inquired from the crouching forensic scientist that had been quietly gathering fingerprints from the human corpse since he and his partner arrived.

She answered in an instant, distant-mindedly scrubbing away at some grey powder on the deceased human’s hands, never once looking up to see who was talking to her: “Heart attack. The polytrauma was caused post mortem, like the hematomas on their extremities… or at least that’s what my superior thinks.”

The young woman shrugged but continued nonetheless: “This shit is just so creepy to me. I mean, imagine being crushed by some psycho-gone-berserk android, as if you were a worthless, life-sized teddy-bear, never having the slightest chance to get out of that embrace. Not even in death.”

She sighed.

“Androids, man. Those _things_ seriously fuck me up.”

A few moments of silence passed, until the lithe person next to him suddenly winced and looked up to him in a secondarily apologetic and primarily horrified manner. Her mouth fell open and she squealed in such a high pitch that even his acoustic sensors had trouble recording the emitted wavelength. “I didn’t mean it as douchebaggy as it sounded, I swear. Please don’t hate me.”

Connor had the urge to snort at that, his stress level considerably dropping during their little exchange. He hadn’t taken any offence at her words in the first place, but she started to apologize profusely, practically begging him for forgiveness, although no harm was done. He would’ve tried to reassure her, if it wasn’t for the fact he was already lagging behind in schedule, _because he kept wasting time on irrelevant things._

“We’ll both do our work and act like none of this happened, how does that sound?”, he interjected as kindly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t spite her despite cutting off her words. But his worries were baseless. She nodded with thankfulness evident in her eyes, eagerly returning to her own task and avoiding looking at him from now on, while her ears were flaming red and a deep blush spreaded towards the upper half of her neck already. 

The android shook his head at her antics.

After making sure his partner wouldn’t catch him do it, Connor got on one knee and cautiously dipped two fingers into the blue blood gathered on the side of the android’s mouth. He raised the sample to his lips and placed a bit of it on his tongue, slightly wrinkling his nose at the metallic flavor his deviancy made him taste but getting used to it rather quickly. It was Thirium, no doubt, but there was another substance added to it and despite being the most advanced of his kind, the RK800 prototype had slight difficulty analyzing its fickle components.

Then his LED turned a bright yellow in alert. Surprised, Connor recognized the addition as mixture of Acetone, Lithium, Thirium, Toluene, and Hydrochloric acid. Named after its molecular formula “C17H21NO4”, however, more commonly referred to as Red Ice; the most popular drug in circulation.

He was stunned for a solid second.

But it only took a few moments for him to collect himself and his LED to flicker in a bright blue again.

Connor was just about to get up and tell Hank of his findings, maybe even start his reconstruction afterwards, but what he didn’t anticipate was detective Reed practically lunging at the intern out of the corner of his visual sensors, making the Rk800 prototype simply forget about whatever he had been planning to do next.

The boy seemed to be yelling something in a rather unusual dialect of Spanish.

Detective Reed didn’t seem to understand.

“Lo siento¡ Lo siento¡Lo siento¡”


	5. Japanese

The intern was trying to defend himself in what was probably his mother language, speaking at such a hasty pace that Connor not only had trouble keeping up, but almost felt reminded of the multiple occasions he had been under rapid fire, while Reed was having none of the apologies and kept closing in like a Hyena would on a wounded bird.

Connor faltered in his focus yet again, when he had to remind himself that similes were neither part of his program, nor part of his rather rational approach to thinking, and that he should cross his legs again, just to make sure nobody was getting a glimpse of something they shouldn’t see. Most bits and pieces of conversation that weren’t getting swallowed by the sound of Reed trying to choke the intern and the intern trying not to get choked, dealt with a witness turned suspect that had somehow managed to break out of one of the temporary holding cells back in the police department, by hacking the thirty-two-digit, quantum-cryptographically generated password in about half an hour.

Somehow, the Rk800 doubted his own computing capacity would have been sufficient enough to breach the lock in an even remotely close time limit. He actually was impressed.

“Some cameras filmed that bitch getting a snack from one of the automats! She even had a good look at the database while she was at it. Are you aware of how much crap Fowler is going to give me, just because you decided not to keep a close watch on her at all times like _I fucking told you to_?”

Anyone could notice the lack of logic in the Detective’s words, considering that the intern had fulfilled his instructions without fail: He _had_ detained the suspect in the end. Blame – if it was to be even slightly justified - had to be placed on the technical department for failing to provide a satisfactory code withholding any unauthorized personnel from entering and leaving the cells on their own accord. However, not a single person dared to interject, a small noise from beside Connor indicating that the forensic scientist was continuing with her task unperturbed, whilst Hank finished his burrito and wiped off the stray breadcrumbs sticking to his hands on his _freshly washed and ironed trousers._ The old man then proceeded to step in between the unequal struggle, halting Reed in his movements and bellowed accusations, although the prognosis Rk800 had calculated didn’t support this particular unfolding of events. Connor’s facial-expression-recognition program registered fragile hope upon the intern’s face in that exact moment. But the Lieutenant only pressed paper waste previously containing his breakfast into the boy’s hand and told him to get rid of it with a sly smirk

Since empathy wasn’t an entirely foreign concept to him, Connor almost felt bad for the young human, who was evidently being hazed. (He intentionally blocked his memory disc from replaying Kamski’s game that led up to this realization though.)

Seeing as in how none of this seemed to further the investigation in any way, Connor simply turned his back to the disorganized scene, ran his reconstruction program and let himself be engulfed by the mechanical part of his mind springing to life with an even to his extraordinarily advanced hearing components barely audible whir, activating the only part of his software that still obeyed his commands, apparently. Seconds later complex evidence patterns were filtered and joint to logical conclusions, displaying themselves in a way that most efficiently united all of the relevant information in a single environmental graph, as Connors vision turned dark, only highlighting the few bits of evidence he collected in a bright shade of blue.

He could watch the human woman staggering away from the android boy, clutching the front of her pullover as if trying to rip it off her chest in one movement. The Rk800 prototype didn’t require more than a silhouette to register the panic she must’ve felt, her heart constricting, not being able to breathe as her natural bodily tension increased a tenfold only to dissipate into nothing.

As soon as her back had hit the wall, her by now probably lifeless form sank down on it, head falling onto her shoulders, arms going lax and legs giving out. The Yk600 had shaken her afterwards, trying to get the smallest sign of breathing out of someone who was clearly dead, clutching onto the woman and desperately trying to constrict her ribs in a way that would get the heart to beat again.

Before he could reach any kind of logical deduction, Connor’s processing unit tore its visual landscape alteration process off, providing him with a conspicuous error-message reaching over the entirety of his view. A lack of evidence was stopping his program from completing the outline of the progression of events, and he felt slightly inconvenienced by this, as it hadn’t ever happened before.

But at least the Rk800 model had found the murder weapon quite swiftly.  

His gaze shifted to the android sent by an unknown third party.

Connor’s priorities updated from finding the reason for his erection to solving this case, and he was incredibly thankful for that, although he could still feel himself press up against his lower region and although that was still distracting. Blinking a few times to make sure his visual components were working correctly, he went over to Hank to brief him about his findings and add in his own gathered opinions on the case too, while his partner listened with an unusually high level of attentiveness. The older man agreed to the theory that the android had been sent to kill, although he was thoroughly stunned by the fact that Red Ice had been a traceable component in the blood of both corpses.

“Well, that crap makes humans more aggressive and prone to hallucination, but I don’t have a clue what it would do to an android, especially since it’s basically made from Thirium too.”

Connor nodded in agreement, adding: “Another question would be how it got into the blood in the first place. Androids lack a digestive system that would enable them to transpose orally imported substances, while injections to an android require a lot of technical knowledge only few people obtain during their life. Whoever planned this must’ve been well acquainted with the way we are built.”

“Well, that sounds noteworthy indeed.”, his partner stated in a strangely patronizing way. “But I wanna know something else right now.”

Hank leaned forward and lowered his voice, making sure to keep out of earshot of the other officers on site.

“Why the fuck do you have a boner, Connor?”

In reaction to this inquiry every single one of the Rk800 prototype’s processing systems sent out an error-message at the same time, one of them even blinking at him in japanese Hirigana.

Connor only managed one coherent thought.

_“Shit.”_


	6. English

Connor had been built with the practical ability to withstand any kind of stress inflicted upon him while simultaneously remaining as rational as possible during inconvenient situations, ensured to never launch into a system breakdown, no matter how dire his predicament, and lastly armed with one of the fastest processing units CyberLife had ever created. Nevertheless, his partner seemed to have been born with the ability to negate all of the previously mentioned skills, as the android was staring at him in utter bafflement, his computing device ceasing to operate in overdrive.

The Rk800’s flight mechanism was in full swing by now, his sensors picking up on an imminent danger without realizing it was located on an emotionally, not physically relevant level of awareness. And although it was completely contractionary to the entirety of his coding, although it was completely contractionary to everything he _was_ and everything _he had ever been_ … Connor almost felt **_ashamed._**

The perception of shame certainly was neither unfamiliar, nor foreign to the deviant. He had been profoundly ashamed not too long ago, when he realized he’d gullably fallen for Amanda’s ploy, almost forsaking his whole kind and humanity in the process, never once doubting the abhorrent instructions no empathic being should’ve been capable of administering.

But the anomalous shame he was confronted with right now seemed different, his ventilation system unannouncedly activating and attempting to mediate the sudden raise in his body temperature by hurriedly releasing hot air through the artificial pores on the back of his neck. He straightened his posture as if bracing himself for a fight, facing his partner in the progress and wondering why his own breathing pattern had started to show irregularities.

“I apologize, if this troubles you in any way, Lieutenant, but my program seems to have encountered an unforeseen malfunction I haven’t been able to eliminate yet. Our case has top priority, I assure you of that, and I won’t let such a minor inconvenience keep me from working effectively. However, I offer to keep my distance until this… unfortunate occurrence passes.”

Hank just countered with a long stare.

Then he echoed with a sound of disbelieve: “Unfortunate occurrence? That’s what we’re calling it now? God.”

The Lieutenant sighed, turned on his heel and took off, signaling for the younger male to follow him by throwing a standoffish hand gesture over his shoulder, informing nobody in particular that they’d go back to the precinct and try to find the fugitive Reed had been flying off the handle about, even though their current instructions from Captain Fowler stated they should stay at the crime scene and wait for further guidance. Connor couldn’t help but remain tense. His software was slowly cooling down again, but his mind remained in disarray. None of his calculated reconstructions, estimated prognoses or replayed memories helped him gain the slightest understanding of how Hank could possibly react, the old man’s next actions getting more and more difficult to predict with each passing minute of silence.

Only when they finally reached the practically ancient, manually controlled _gear shift car_ and entered it, did he finally open his mouth again, sounding impossibly more gruff than usual: “Damn, Connor. I just wanted to poke some fun at you and you go act like that plastic sack of shit down in the CyberLife tower. Don’t fucking do that ever again, or I swear...”

It was strange to be confronted with an entirely different side to his partner without expecting it in the slightest. The android couldn’t retract the steps that had led to Hank’s annoyance, but his program detected the need to apologize. So he did: “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, it won’t happen again.”

Hank snorted audibly.

“It won’t happen again _my ass_. The last time you said that, I had to watch you lick blood off your fingers, as if it was your favorite flavored lollipop. And you still do that shit, whenever you think I’m not paying attention.”

Bullseye. Connor shrank back in his seat.

Following that, the young male’s social-relations module was unable to conjure a suitable answer, so he just kept quiet, avoiding worsening the Lieutenants mood even further by making another thoughtless remark. The resulting lack of conversation would’ve usually developed into a comfortably shared silence, in which Hank tended to turn on one of the songs he’d hum along to after a while, but right now the atmosphere they both were exposed to was mostly unnerving.

Connor registered the soft but deep hum of the engine, sometimes interrupted by a spluttering noise, despite the excellent maintenance work it had obviously underwent. He could even hear his own processors whirring softly, noticing that his erection was still straining against the material of his pants, even after the ludicrous time period of over two hours.

It took a while for Hank to finally raise his voice again.

“So - weird question, bear with me – do you even know what to _do_ with it?”

Connor didn’t, but he also knew that the topic of sexuality including all its variations was a sensitive subject for most humans, causing him to feel honored by the fact that his partner was willing to guide him along if he wasn’t capable to comprehend his own predicament, well aware that any sense of comfort would be compromised by doing so.

“The internet provided some ideas, yes.”, Connor declined the underlying offer of explanation thankfully, careful to keep every sort of connotation out of the sound of his words.

Hank nodded, opening his mouth again – probably to ask another question.

Then he shook his head.

“What the fuck am I even doing, talking about an android’s boner.”

The conversation had ended as quickly as it had started.

But this time, Hank turned on his music.

 

***

 

They reached the detroitian police station in approximately fifteen minutes of heavy metal drowning out any other kind of sound, translucent doors sliding open in front of them and inviting authorized personnel in through a faint buzz. Hank was greeting some of their colleagues with a curt nod as Connor entered the enclosed space humans preferred to be located in for some to him unknown reason, and that’s when it happened.

Connor smelled something.

Although that wasn’t unusual per se, since he had been created to be capable of finding every last bit evidence in a crime scene (even if it was a simple aroma), Connor had never actively _smelled_ something before. Registered the composition of a scent and catalogued it, able to retrieve it from his database anytime it was needed for comparison? Yes, of course.

But he wasn’t used to _this_.

Something warm and undeniably sweet (his network had provided him this word, supposedly describing what he was encountering based on human perception) filled his artificial lungs so persistently he could practically taste it too, an electrical impulse shooting through his body, that caused his insides and units to churn in unison, making him await an error-message that never came.

“Connor? Hey, Connor? Are you listening?”

Hank shook him roughly by his shoulders, leading to the android snapping out of his absence and blinking in confusion, while a couple of officers rounded them with curiosity evident on their faces, not addressing either of the partners to avoid clearly unwanted interruption.  

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Could you repeat that, please?”, the Rk800 model inquired, aiming to make it sound as if he wasn’t a second away from shutdown, his voice component breaking the unconvincing words at their edges.

Hank didn’t fulfill the request: “Are you all right?”

The android tilted his head to the side – a signature movement – and quickly nodded, expertly lying through gritted teeth afterwards: “I can assure you I’m completely fine.”

Hank wasn’t having any of it.

“Your LED.”

He gestured to his temple.

“It's red.”


	7. American

Perhaps Connor’s most coherent line of action would’ve been to calm his partner and reassure that everything was alright, his systems were still intact and that his by now non-stop running diagnostical program hadn’t found a single corrupted software commodity, ever since Amanda had tried to freeze him in a world conjured by his own processor; not only because his social relations protocol advised such behavior in critical situations of distress, but because worry was so out of character for the Lieutenant named Hank Anderson that a lot of the police officers in earshot started staring quite openly, most of them obviously bewildered.

However, for the very first time, his AI wasn’t able to provide any rationality that rendered quick enough to keep up with his instincts already taking over. His entire hardware demanded for him to find the faulty bit of code that caused his malfunctions (and apparently didn’t exist in the first place), while his engine was overheating in the pursuit of keeping his body from anticlimactically throwing itself over the last electrical barrier separating him from the inner precinct and frequenting the origin of the scent immediately.

His hands tensed to fists by his sides, forceful enough for plastic nails to scrap against his plastic palms, skin partially broken, mind entirely in shambles.

„I’m sorry Lieutenant. It won’t happen again.”, he managed, fueled by something he couldn’t detect in his artificial body. Something that was wrong. So very, very wrong. But something that made him _feel_ again.

Hank looked utterly floored.

“Oh, for fucks sake quit apologizing, or I might actually start to worry.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then a sharp intake of breath was audible next to them, caused by the rather rash statement, resounding simultaneously with a loud shattering that made several people around flinch. Connor’s acoustic sensors had recorded its sound and catalogued it in seconds, adding it to the other noises of somebody dropping a mug, using up too much of the computing capacity he still had left. Shoes and pant legs were ruined in a vicinity of two meters, but at least none of the shards got far enough to hurt somebody, while the police officer to be held accountable for this was punched lightly and jokingly scolded by one of his colleagues.

The small group of people that had been watching them dissipated, some of them angrily wiping at their clothes and others debating animatedly about what they just witnessed, while one of the cleaners that had quick mindedly gotten a broom and dustpan started swiping up the broken pieces in exactly zero minutes and thirty-four seconds – measured by the internal chronometer Connor had been equipped with. The cleaner was a human, doing what had been considered android-work only a year ago. And although the attuned Rk800 sensors registered all of this, none of the information reached his motherboard whose transfer cable seemed to be clogged.

He remained motionless.

“Oh for the love of god, just –“

Hank grabbed the younger male by his necktie and pulled him along, busting through the mechanically produced cordon, making a beeline for his table, additionally grumbling something about “ _server lags worse than counterstrike_ ” and “ _fucking machines_ ” without once letting go. Connor was too preoccupied with the realization that they were also nearing the source of the scent, to even remotely be bothered by the assault he was facing right now, because his partner simply had run out of patience. He closed his eyes and tried to determine the components included in the smell.

A combination of grassy notes with a tang of acids and a hint of vanilla over an underlying mustiness, mixed with an earthy, wet and muted aroma, based on hundreds of volatile organic compounds slowly being released into the air assaulted his receptors in a weirdly calming way. _The smell of old books and pine trees_ , Connor concluded, while slowly opening his eyes again. His lenses took a while to adjust to his environment and he _felt_ like he had, somehow, encountered this weird aroma before, but he just couldn’t pinpoint it. The android remembered it, although his database didn’t, and that should have been impossible.

The reason was a simple one: His save reservoir stored up to a billion yottabytes of information concurrently, not deleting a single detail concerning any to him relevant knowledge and saving dispensable facts on the network, which could be considered as the equivalent of eidetic memory to most humans. He literally wasn’t able to forget scents, lest be reminded of them in the to him unusual concept of

**word search completed**

Deja-vu.

But as soon as Hank finally let him go, Connor’s first instinct wasn’t to fix his now disheveled tie like it should’ve been. Instead, he reached out for the scent and therefore a piece of paper, ripped out of one of the untouched files that were stacked high on the Lieutenants work space, greeting him with an electric current shooting through his fingertips at the contact. The inconspicuous note had been written in a horrible chicken scratch that was smudged at the ledges - hard to identify even for his language components supplied with more than three million units of reverence material.

_I’ll brb. Getting some donuts and coffee. The stereotype lives!_

 

Rk800 raised an eyebrow subsequently.

“Do you know who could’ve left you this note, Lieutenant?”, he asked, passing it on for further inspection, although he felt the irrational urge to keep it in his hands for the rest of his live. It would’ve been a blatant lie to state that he waited patiently for his partner’s answer, but he didn’t hurry him at least, keeping the last semblance of poise he had left intact. The last bit of dignity. The last bit of knowledge, he had erroneously thought to own about himself.

“Nah, no clue. It’s definitely not from Jeffrey though.”, negated the old man, his eyes gleaming a little in the nearing promise of his favorite sweets.

Meanwhile, the android decided to run a check through his database, but not a single comparable handwriting popped up in accordance to it, so he let his head sink in defeat, dreading whatever problem his computing unit would cause next... until a big hand came to contact with his artificial shoulder blade, his sensors calmly informing him of the pressure being added onto his weight. _Soothing?_

“You know what? I don’t have the slightest clue what the hell has been going on with you ever since you lost that arm and got repaired. First you start to act like that machine sack of shit again, and then you turn into this… I can’t even describe it.”

The man took a deep breath before he continued.

“I’ll just be the good guy and tell you that the bathroom on the second floor is under maintenance, so no one will be there till tomorrow. Sort out what ever malware you managed to download and restore that data-pack-annoying-partner bullshit or whatever, because it’s seriously starting to get on my nerves.”

Connor was assaulted with a lot of emotion following that seemingly rude little monologue. He couldn’t comprehend, but he was getting used to this overload anyway.

“Thank you.”, the Rk800 offered truthfully, but Hank only waved him off, already occupying himself with a folder he’d probably never touch again.

Connor finally fixed his tie and set off in long strides. As if he had a mission to accomplish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will contain (slight) smut
> 
> get ready


	8. Italian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one more warning: This is NSFW.

_Lean fingers closed themselves around slowly, probing whether this action would have unforeseen consequences, while carefully listening to any sound that could’ve been caused by someone nearing. An unexpected chill greeted him, as he slid his palm along its length hesitantly, relishing in the feeling that only such a smooth surface could cause, his stealth mechanism in full swing, rationality gone for a fleeting moment. Dead silence surrounded his body. Only his attuned receptors were able to register the noise of his delicate movements. Faint, almost non-existent. A sigh fell from his lips as he shakily breathed out. Careful. So very careful not to alert anyone to his presence or what he was doing._

Then he grabbed the _door handle_ leading into the lavatory fully, pulling it open and gliding inside.

An exact replica of the bathroom one floor beneath this one extended itself in front of him, only differing in the additional clinical scent his surroundings displayed, a mixture of diverse cleaning utensils and air fresheners that were assured to take a poll on human lungs after long exposure. Connor was almost amused by this fact. But he wasn’t human enough to actually find it funny or care about a suboptimal breathing system put together by nature. And he had a mission to complete that allowed no distractions.

Making sure the door behind him was locked (by not only supplying it with an electrical code, but also manually turning the key he had brought along from the cleaning personnel they had encountered earlier), the Rk800 prototype made his way to one of the stalls, intentionally avoiding his reflection in the large mirror covering half of the adjacent wall. He was just going to take care of _it_ and leave. There wouldn’t be anything more left to do. And since he wasn’t capable of ruining his clothes with any bodily fluids except for blood or the artificial tears CyberLife had added to every single android to make them seem more realistic, nothing was going to _keep_ him from _keeping_ this short.

The faint “clang” of the hinges falling closed behind Connor resounded in the completely empty room, narrowly followed by the noise of him also locking _this_ door, just to make sure there wouldn’t be the slightest possibility of him getting caught (his calculated prediction was assuming a 100 percent rate of success at this point), although he knew for a fact that – no matter how unlikely this event was prognosed to be - his sensors would pick up on someone entering this bathroom immediately.

The android was well prepared for the task at hand, having read through thousands of articles on this topic and analyzed how most human males usually masturbated, by watching a lot of porn videos and skimming through multiple posts of insecure adolescents on social media. Still, he didn’t exactly feel comfortable opening his belt. It took him a while, although his hand movements had been programmed to not only be fluent and seem lifelike, but also to be deadly precise. He shouldn’t have nervously wasted time like he did, stopping every few millimeters to listen for any sign of disturbance or unusual wavelength in the air.

The Rk800 opted for standing, despite this clearly not being the preferred line of action for most males. He wasn’t only more resistant to fatigue than the ordinary human. He also felt it was beneath him to sit down in such a vulnerable opposition, legs spread, and head tilted back, baring his throat in the process. He had been programmed to always remain in the most practical position of superiority, should an emergency arise, and it was hard to not act according to his protocol that he’d been bound to for the biggest portion of his life.

He propped one arm up against the now closed door, after checking it would be strong enough to hold his entire weight, pushed his pants down in one smooth movement (Androids didn’t use undergarments, as there was no need for them.) and just stood there for a minute, trying to get his processor to compute the fact that he was going to _wank off_. Even the term commonly used to describe that action had a mostly vulgar connotation to it.

He had registered the high note of his belt hitting the ground under his feet, unison with a puff of cold wind encircling his thighs, because of the lack of material covering them before. Every single one of his units started protesting. He should’ve been out there, catching the fugitive and solving a _murder_ case. Not up here with his own partner downstairs fully aware of what he was about to do. But Connor also knew his capability was being heavily compromised by his predicament, so he didn’t really have any choice.

He promised himself to make it quick.

His body had been equipped above average in every aspect, and that was probably the main reason why it posed as no surprise that the length of his genital was too. While the average erect penis had a length of 13,12 centimeters, Connors visual gauge measured exactly 17,78 centimeters standing tall against his lower abdomen, already pulsating after the strain it had to endure the last few hours. (Or 7 inches, in that even to androids illogical method of measurement only Americans preferred.)

Connor would’ve expected his processing unit to shut down for once, but instead, he was being seamlessly bombarded with statistics, survey results and doctoral theses he hadn’t requested, while staring at the perfect replica of a human penis connected to his abdomen. Small veins were running along its shaft, a bit of blue shimmering through the plastic and artificial skin he was made from, adding to the somehow generic sight of one of the most mundane, but still somehow secluded body-parts in the history of humanity. He somehow couldn’t place any arousing value to this rather formless _thing_ , but maybe his viewpoint would change in the course of events that awaited him.

Although he knew what to do with it, he didn’t know what to do with it, so he just closed his fingers around himself one by one, giving his dick an experimental tug seconds later. He blinked. He breathed. He tilted his head.

Connor felt the pressure and heat, but nothing more.

His eyebrows shot up in confusion as he tried again, a little less gentle this time, however, nothing in him reacted at all. It was illogical that the moderate warmth of his hand (almost perfectly fitted to the human average of 37 degrees, just higher by three units, because most people usually felt more comfortable around warmth) was soaking into his receptors without causing any kind of reaction, although the entire internet predicted otherwise.

Connor let his fist collide with the rather thin material he was holding himself against in irritation. If he couldn’t get rid of his problem in the only way that came to mind, it wouldn’t only affect himself but also everybody around him. He had a case to solve! His priority was finding a homicidal maniac and taking care of the erection only another step into that direction. He wasn’t aroused in the slightest and wouldn’t be, so he made his overheating forehead fall against the pleasantly cold door in front of him, pushing the few deviant strands of hair back. He didn’t feel anything notable.

At least until a sharp laugh resounded in close vicinity.

_“Why the fuck should it brother me. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”_

Something unidentifiable shot through his circulation system as he startled violently.

Connor was disoriented at first, immediately letting go of himself and pressing his other hand on his mouth to stop the startled noise that had been about to escape his vocal synthesizer. It took him a few hasty breaths to realize he was still alone, and that nobody had come in. The Rk800 prototype also registered that his memory disc was finally active, but not actually providing him with any useful information. A few broken carrier sequences reached his computing unit, but they didn’t make any sense at all.

Without him even giving his artificial neurons the order to do so, he cautiously grabbed himself again, starting off with the lax movement he had downloaded when he’d joined minds with the androids back in _Eden Club_. This was just a different, less suitable gesture, and also a catalogued part of his database. He knew that was supposed to feel good. But again, there was a complete lack of reaction in him. The touch was there, but it didn’t help at all.

The android was growing frustrated, so he tried to recreate the laugh he’d just heard in his data-storage, not even giving himself a second to think about what it meant and how that action could be very morally reprehensible. And suddenly, he was assaulted by that smell again, stronger this time, as if he was burying his face into it. It coated his insides, like mist entering along the cracks in his plastic silhouette and stealthily gliding along every part of his being, marking him as its own. His diagnostical program started to raise actual alerts for the first time in a long while, but for some reason his hand didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and tried to retain himself from simply stopping to breathe.

It felt good, running his fingers along the shaft, up and down repeatedly. Something that mundane made an electric currency shoot through his backbone, reach over his shoulders and spread through his entire chest, whilst the rest of his body was growing dangerously numb. As his thumb ran along one of the veins, Connor had to stifle a sound threatening to tumble over his tongue, biting it ferociously to do so.

“ _This tastes so good.”,_ somebody called out to him. Following suit was a lengthy moan that made his insides churn and muscles clench painfully, while his already harsh speed only picked up in momentum. _Pleasure_ , he understood distantly. _This was the rumored pleasure in whose pursuit some people were willing to pay and hurt for._ The heat that had started to engulf him made any other coherent thought impossible, as he only managed to move his hand.

Connors hips stuttered forward, and a cracked noise rushed out of his loudspeakers, something akin to a pitiful whine, but much more mechanic escaping him, while his legs threatened to give out under his body.

He remembered, but he didn’t. He knew the taste but couldn’t name it. Sweat, obviously, but it was mixed with something else. Something so addicting he could’ve lapped it up even after knowing its components to the slightest chemical impurity contained in it. He remembered the feeling of heels digging into his lower back and a body writhing beneath him. He wanted… What did he want? He couldn’t recall.

“I need you.”, someone that wasn’t there whispered.

He got impossibly harder.

A fire ignited in his lower regions consecutively, causing him to lose focus.Not even his lungs were working correctly, while his legs got shakier and shakier, heart beating in one of the most irregular rhythms he’d ever encountered and probably would’ve killed a human by now. But he couldn’t move anything except for his hand, frantically gaining speed with every passing second. He couldn’t think of anything but that silhouette that just remained out of sight, out of his reach. 

He couldn’t compute anymore. He couldn’t calculate.

_He felt._

With his irregular, health-hazard heartbeat. With his legs losing their strength. With his breaths, shallow and quick. With every _fiber_ of his _being._

**He was alive.**

_“You can forget every last thing, but don’t ever forget what I am about to tell you.”_ , the voice haunting him muttered, directly next to his ear. Something clenched inside of him. A memory. A feeling. Fleeting. Dread hit him, but it was so sweet. The android could taste it on the tip of his tongue, but he wanted the aroma to fill his entire mouth.

_“You’re a living being.”_

He didn’t know what his body was yearning for. He needed a climax, but couldn’t reach it on his own. Everything in him was screaming for that part he’d been missing. He just -

 _“And I love you._ ”, the voice whispered in a hushed tone.

Connor came.

And then he crashed to the ground.


	9. Korean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your support, and the kind comments that really keep me going. It makes my entire week.

****

Distillated water was brimming in his visual components, Connor realized duly, his back leaned against the bathroom stall and head tilted backwards to enable him to look at the slightly blue light raining down on him from the ceiling. His system identified the HEX code as #def1f2, displaying the additional RGB code too: rgb(222, 241, 242). **Saved**. From now on he’d always remember the fact that the light in the lavatories of the police station had that exact value from. But for some reason he’d still managed to cry about a loss he couldn’t even recall, lest reconstruct, in the middle of said lavatory he hadn’t even wanted to remain in longer than five minutes. So very irrational. So very _shameful._

Connor closed his eyes and ran a preliminary checkup. By now, his diagnostical program had noted about 1736 defects occurring simultaneously, and was frantically trying to isolate, analyze and remove them, while only the Rk800 himself was aware how whatever was wrong with him wouldn’t be solved with a single checkup and updated firewall. This problem of his was obstinate. This problem of his reached deeper than he first assumed. This problem of his had never been about the highly impractical erection, but his highly dysfunctional emotion-module, that was gradually numbing the longer he sat on the cool, tiled floor.

Most of the errors occurred in his memory card that was continuously sending out broken sequences (oblique mixtures of different noises and voices), desperately trying to recreate the sound of whomever had spoken to him earlier, thus delete it out of his entire database to never have to encounter it and the automatically following meltdown ever again. Connor was sure he’d been hacked, or that the save file he’d uploaded before the reparation concerning his arm had been corrupted somehow. It was completely out of question for him to actually have forgotten something, only for it to come back in shambles and haunt him to this ludicrous extent.

The android was absent-mindedly about to reach for his coin, but then he noticed how he remained undressed from the waist down, a fact that usually would’ve made several of his internal warning-systems react a lot sooner. He breathed out once more and stood up, pulled his pants with him and closed the belt with regained preciseness, this time at least evading getting hard again. He fixed his tie, straightened his jacket and opened the door, stepping out to the larger room.

This time, he didn’t avoid his reflection. Instead, the Rk800 prototype went right for it, carefully examining every little detail that could pose as evidence for his earlier actions in the unblemished mirror. His lenses focused immediately, zeroing in on the blue shade that was covering his nose over to his artificial cheekbones and neck, cables veins popping out and hair in disarray.

It took him a while to return to his prescribed appearance, with only a single strand of brown falling to his forehead and the sense of aloofness surrounding him like a second layer of imitated skin.

His inner, chronomantic timer had measured about 15 minutes passing since he first entered the lavatory. His units were working according to protocol again, except for his memory disc that was still spewing bits and pieces of moments, he’d never encountered, into his depiction of the past. It was different from the glimpses he got whenever he accessed the database of other androids. Those didn’t belong to him, but he could identify them unequivocally, while the blurred ones... They seemed to be a part of him. A part he'd stolen. Maybe his deviancy didn’t only download gestures, but also emotion. Maybe one of his kind had loved another person so deeply it seeped into his hardware? Connor couldn’t tell.

He looked presentable again, after washing his face to get rid of the tears, although they were lacking the minerals contained in their human counterpart, to make sure the plastic shell wouldn’t be harmed. He somehow felt in control again, because he knew _what_ he couldn’t control now. Because he had some kind of lead, a clue that would help him figure this out.

(And because he wasn’t hard anymore.)

His blush disappeared. His LED shone in a calming blue. He fixed his tie one more time, shook his head and left the room.

***

He was greeted by the familiar scent again, as he descended the flight of stairs leading to the second floor. It was quite distinct this time, he could even make out the additional aroma of cinnamon, hidden in-between the other, noticeably stronger volatile organic compounds. Somehow it was less aggravating and more soothing being confronted with it without having an erection. Connor realized his overheating processing unit was running in its usual velocity again, reaching the conclusion that he was fine. This was fine. He would get through this somehow.

The Lieutenant was standing beside his desk, when the android neared, mouth opened to greet his partner with a mischievous glint in his eyes, as a mop of unruly hair suddenly rushed past them and threw multiple boxes of donuts onto the desk.

“Yeah, so, I didn’t know which flavor you'd prefer, so I just got all of them? Help yourself, please.”

You skillfully rounded both men with a little, slightly theatrical spin and dropped into the chair that belonged to the Rk800 prototype, propping your legs up and broadly smiling at them, taking a big, slightly annoying slurp out of the coffee cup you were holding. Another one was deposited right next to the hand Hank used to hold himself up with, while the old man could only do as much as blink in reaction.

Meanwhile, Connor was wondering how you managed to hold these objects concurrently without tripping and breaking your solar-plexus. Then he reminded his software to sort out its priorities, because his acoustic sensors faintly reported, that your voice was an exact replica of the one that had told him how much it loved him about ten minutes prior, somewhere in the background. Hank was the first to actually acknowledge you, with his usual grace and politeness on full display.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

Your smile only grew, while you threw your hair back over your shoulders and blinked up at them innocently.

“I’m Y/N. But I don’t think _that_ info will help you at all.”

Your gaze met Connor’s and he was completely mesmerized, trying to analyze every last bit of detail he could gather, his sensors solely focusing on you. He was about to go into overdrive again, when he noticed something that utterly floored him in seconds. His facial recognition software conjured up new data and kindly informed the android of the utter hostility that was obvious in your face, only underlined by a general manifestation of disgust.

You shrugged.

“Just let me introduce myself by telling you: I’m currently a murder suspect. And I’ve added no sugar or milk to that coffee, ‘cuz I wasn’t sure how you’d like it.”

Then you started to grin again.

 


	10. Dutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a tumblr.
> 
> It's called lowlaif too.
> 
> *hint, hint*

Connors analytical program was solely fixated on you, aiming to gain a congruent understanding about _who_ and _what_ you were, by evaluating every single detail that any of his sensors could pick up one by one and adding them to the preliminarily blank file he’d just conjured in front of his inner eye. His LED shone in a dim yellow, indicating the Rk800’s transition to processing mode, while his visual components expeditiously swiped over your form and only scarcely halted to scrutinize an especially notable attribute.

You were practically drowning in an oversized sweater, the kind that pooled around the wrists and hips in a way that may seemed unintentional, but suited your lithe frame quite flatteringly, the pair of pants you chose to wear beneath ripped multiple times. Connor implemented a data-transfer to compare this outfit to anything he could find in the network, but not a single match was reported, no matter how wide the range of resemblance had been set in every single boutique catalogue uploaded to the internet. Thus, his reconstruction-software estimated a chance of about 86 percent that the holes in your clothing didn’t originate from a fashion statement, seen as in how slight remnants of scab were covering your left knee, indicating a virtually healing abrasion.

The shoes on your feet resembled massive combat boots, beneficial to maintaining stability and impeccably balanced, with an unusually deep tread, but definitely not suited to support the female physique. They were two numbers too big for you and almost slipping off your ankles, raising the question how you had managed to walk more than a few steps, let alone spin in them. Also, although your hair seemed mostly windswept, it didn’t look like you had combed it in a while, knots that would be painful to unravel later adding to your disheveled appearance. There were no traces of makeup evident on your face, so the deep shadows underneath your bright eyes were barely covered by the counterfeit grin you tried to uphold. Your center of gravity was slightly tilted to the right, relieving the strain on your sides that were wounded with a probability value of 1.

Based on this precedent analysis, the Rk800 concluded you were a fugitive indeed, with confinement being the next logical step ahead and strongly advised by his intercalary protocol. However, he only took note duly since he was preoccupied with an entirely different realization.

He hadn’t been constructed with a sense or appreciation for beauty, not even a scale that would’ve allowed him to categorize looks by the level of adoration they commonly gained.

But after observing you, he numbly decided you were beautiful.

At least to him.

You, in the meantime, shot him another dirty look, before reverting your attention back to Hank and sardonically asking: “Shouldn’t you be, like, interrogating me or something?”

One of your sleeves slipped up as you fidgeted a bit and not only exposed your clandestine nervousness, but also your (in comparison to Connor’s) small hand in the process. The only piece of jewelry you wore, despite both of your ears being pierced, was sparkling in the cold neon-light overhead, causing the android to squint for a second, avoiding his lenses readjusting unnecessarily. It was a ring, fit perfectly around your little finger, so perfectly, that it must’ve been tailored especially for you, the consistency of material – vantablack – only interrupted by a crooked line of turquoise streaks along the center, obviously modeled after labradorite. But it wasn’t labradorite. Connor grew certain, after a slight movement revealed the liquid property of the alledged gem.

It was Thirium.

Silently running in the background of the Rk800’s current computing progresses, his processing unit had measured a probability of 0 to get any kind of helpful information out of you. Therefore, the sudden crack in your inviolable shell caused his coding to lunge for the exposed weak-spot, without him being able to withhold his programmed behavior from steering his actions.

He had rounded the table in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling it up towards himself, startling you bad enough to make you yelp and the entirety of the precinct fall silent within seconds. Even though his rationality had taken over, he made carefully sure for there not to be the slightest possibility of hurting you. But that wasn’t enough. For some illogical reason it felt completely wrong to hold you against your will, not only because it wasn’t conforming with deviant integrity, but also because… why?

He shrugged it off. His morality module must’ve been corrupted, too.

To make sure you weren’t an android, although he had long since reached that conclusion, the Rk800 prototype let the skin covering his hand slip away, laying the plastic underneath it bare to every prodding eye in close vicinity. His theory was confirmed, obviously. He could easily sense your heart beat and blood flow (something that shouldn’t have been as enthralling as it was), without a single bit of technology greeting or reciprocating his touch. But instead of recoiling, like he was accustomed to from most humans, you just stared at him. Openly. Eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, causing the unconcealed _hatred_ to crash into his chest like an electrical shock.

**-**

**Mission updated.**

**Suspect must be questioned.**

**-  
**

„You’re not an android. Why are you carrying a phial of blue blood around?”, he demanded harshly. A tone Connor neither wanted, nor aimed for, reserved for the worst scum that could be questioned in a police station.

“What’s that got to do with the case.”, you hissed, hostility seeping through every single syllable, quickly hiding the _sparkling_ ring from sight by covering it with your clothing. The makeshift azure being out of sight pained the Rk800 prototype somehow.

**-**

**suspect must be questioned**

**-**

“Did it belong to the victim? Did you kill either of them?”

Your subsequent snort of complete dismissal was just cruel: “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

But Connor couldn’t break out of his logic. It was controlling his movements: “I’m not applying enough force to harm you.”

“It’s not about my fucking body. Let go!”

**-**

**suSpECt mUst Be qUEsTioNeD**

**-  
**

“I’m sorry for the discomfort I’m causing, but you won’t tell us anything otherwise, will you? That’s why I -”

“Don’t act like you care. You’re just. a fucking. _machine_.”

-

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
**

**-  
**

Connor **release** dyou immediately and snapped his hand back, electricity rushing up his arm and disabling every last ventilation device inside of him.

The Lieutenant that was considered to be completely insensitive stepped in-between both of your tense stances with a laid-back one, and smoothly joined the conversation by calmly stating: “That’s enough now.” Then he faced Connor, something akin to disappointment evident in the way the corners of his mouth were turned downwards. “She’s right, you know? This hasn’t got anything to do with the case.” He also turned to you. “But breaking out of a detention cell is a serious criminal offense. You have to follow me to the interrogation room without further ado, or things will get ugly, do you understand?”

You nodded gratefully, placing an object you had pulled out of your front pocket onto Connor’s table in a single, quick movement, undetectable to the human eye. “Wow, I brought the donuts for nothing.”, you quipped afterwards, aloofness regained, and stare just _that_ little bit more spiteful.

After you had followed Hank, the scent you left was heavy in the androids lungs. Heavy enough to make all the whispers and stares directed at him blur, while he just stood there for a while, not even sure whether the malfunction was just an extension of himself anymore.

He decided to take a look at whatever you had left behind.

It seemed to be something sweet, judging by the bright, colorful packaging. Cinnamon flavored candy, made out of edible water, dissipating in the mouth and only leaving the faint taste behind, containing almost zero nutritional value. But that didn’t really matter to Connor.

What mattered was the inscription, mocking him in cheery, red letters, that somehow managed to make his LED turn the same shade anew.

_Suitable for androids._


	11. Turkish

His profiling application dutifully informed him, how he was exhibiting typical behaviorisms befitting most humans with bipolar disorder, as he grabbed both faintly steaming coffee cups and quickly rushed after Hank’s retreating form, allowing the chatter behind him to grow in volume and fill the entire precinct with newfound noise, while his LED slowly returned to its calming shade of blue again.

Connor evaluated the conversation previously shared with you, quickly reaching the conclusion that you were either extremely wary of androids in general – whereupon no logical explanation for the candy could be calculated by his hard drive - or you just despised him with a passion he couldn’t comprehend, nor resolve. You seemed to know him, whereas the only thing he knew of you was based on a set of broken memory sequences that might not even involve him in the first place. The Rk800 was convinced he must’ve downloaded them from another android. But from whom? And how? Or did someone actually hack his processing unit just to make sure he’d grow interested in you? Did you possibly even do it yourself, to gain a more convenient vantage point in the investigation by sneakily pulling him to your side? But when would you have done it?

No matter what was going on with _him_ , his priority was set on finding out whatever was going on with _you_ , so the android couldn’t just launch into power saving mode and wait for the Lieutenant to conceive an interrogation without asking the most important question:

_What were you to Connor, and what was he to you?_

The sound of his step was urgent. Hank heard him coming without even turning around and hastily ushered you into the secluded room at the back of the lengthy hallway, closing the door and shutting you away from the android’s prying sensors before he could reach you.

“I’m not letting you talk to her.”, the Lieutenant stated as soon as the Rk800 was in human earshot, unusually calm for someone whose heartbeat had significantly risen in the past few minutes, almost reaching unhealthy levels for a man his age. “I don’t think your fancy software-crap is able to see it, but I am. That girl is grieving, and you better back the fuck off yourself, or I’ll make sure you do.”

Connor’s system saved the supplementary information – _grieving; /ˈɡriː.vɪŋ/; adjective; the feeling of sadness usually accompanying the death of a loved one_ – and immediately but absent-mindedly nodded at the concealed threat, primarily trying to figure out how the bits and pieces he had learned about you went together (because they didn’t at all). The android wasn’t unsettled, since, although the words directed at him were clearly venomous, Hank’s stance was mostly angled towards his partner, shielding the murder suspect but remaining aimed in Connor’s direction. That’s why his additional statement didn’t come as a surprise either, the reconciliation offered by connotation just another layer of Hanks deeply _kind_ personality he tried to hide so pointlessly.

“I'll question her about the ring though, so you can go watch or something.”

The android smiled crookedly. Then he passed the older man the beverages and took his leave by throwing one last “Thank you, Lieutenant.” over his shoulder.

***

Connor’s hand halted before he could push the door handle, as the android registered something his prognostic program wouldn’t have predicted even if it were malfunctioning, putting him out of his stride effectively enough for him to just _double take_. The usual banter of officers Miller and Wilson reached his acoustic sensors through the rather massive material made out of a legation of steel and copper, but the topic they conversed about let him blink a couple of times, until he finally _computed_ just what they were talking about.

“Man, did you see the way he grabbed her? I really wanted to switch places in that moment. Dominant androids must be _such_ a treat in the bedroom, I swear.”

The Rk800 overheard a dismissive snort following this assessment, after looking up what dominant meant if in relation to a sexual connotation, not sure whether the most suitable reaction would include being flattered or embarrassed: “Weren’t you the complaining about how androids are gonna take over the entire department in a few months?”

“Oh yeah? And that’s so much worse than frequently spending your working hours at the Eden Club, isn’t it? I heard you even got a monthly abonnement, you perverted sicko.”

A beat of silence passed, the loser of their verbal duel clear to everyone listening in.

Then:

“Fuck you, Wilson.”

The Rk800 estimated this as the perfect time to enter, if he didn’t want them to start another awkward line of conversation, causing both men to startle, greeting him with an insincerely professional nod, neither of them exactly used to his presence, especially considering what their last topic had been about. Connor positioned himself at the most favorable viewpoint behind the mirror, staring at you carelessly observing your surroundings, as a hissed inquiry resounded from behind him, intentionally quietened to be sure to stay out of a human’s earshot. But unluckily to them, he wasn’t human.

“Do you think he heard _anything_ of what we just said?”

Before the taller male could respond, Connor had already opened his mouth and retrieved the soundwave fit for his little performance. Perfectly recreating Miller’s voice down to the gushing tone, he repeated “Dominant androids must be _such_ a treat in the bedroom, I swear.” and fanned himself theatrically, turning around to throw a little wink to the wall they’d leaned on.

Another beat of silence, both officers utterly stunned.

Then, Wilson broke out into a fit of giggles, clutching his stomach in fear of accidentally breaking a rib laughing too hard, while his partner moaned in shame and audibly buried his face in his hands.

Connor ignored them and turned back to his center of attention. He estimated that they’d pipe down quite quickly anyway. At least the atmosphere was relaxed now, with them probably growing more comfortable around him, but the android’s main goal had been to make both of them shut up sooner or later, hopefully for the entire remainder of the interrogation, in order for him not to miss a single piece of information you offered involuntarily. Not that it had been necessary. As his gaze settled on you, so did every single one of his sensors, now attuned to anything you could possibly say or do, blurring out everything else happening around him. (Like officer Wilson launching into cries of laughter, not being able to catch his breath anymore or tone down his evident amusement, despite Miller punching him rather ruthlessly for a while now.)

The android had sent your face and name through the database for comparison, but not a single match was reported back to him, as if you didn’t even exist in the first place. He virtually knew nothing about who you were, the probability of you being a crazed mass murderer quite high by now, but whenever he looked at you, different inclinations seemed to settle so deeply in his chest that he was almost sure your name must’ve been engraved there somewhere next to his barcode label. None of these memories seemed to be his own, but for some reason, the conjured image of you, cuddled into his lap, sleeping peacefully, sent an electric impulse shooting through his left wrist, making him clutch it impulsively, not being able to tear his gaze away from the way you thrummed your fingertips against the table placed in front of you.

So small in the suffocating interrogation room.

He was fixated.

**Mission updated.**


	12. Greek

As Hank entered, you seemed to relax a bit, obviously having expected Connor or another unknown officer to interrogate you. Yet your posture remained stiff, chin held up high and legs crossed, dull eyes reflecting a silver of the light shining down from the quadratic lamp overhead, while your lips tightened to a thin line that lowered the probability of you spilling your secrets considerably. You were even allowing your makeshift expression to fall and be taken over by neutral indifference, more befitting of your tense stature than the faked smile you had worn earlier, not ceasing the thrumming, since it obviously helped you with mediating your heartrate and preserving your calmness. The ring was hidden beneath your clothing. It didn’t seem like you wanted anyone else to be aware of it existence.

“Name, age and occupation please.”, the Lieutenant demanded, walking in with a carefully practiced stride, immediately setting the atmosphere for the remainder of the questioning without once breaking character. He also settled a coffee cup in front of you, placing it close enough to ensure you’d be able to grab it easily. You reached out for it with a small “thank you”, only the Rk800 on the other side of the mirror realizing that his partner had accidentally switched the beverages and provided you with the wrong one. But since neither of you displayed any signs of transferable diseases (His scan during the short time he held your wrist had provided no notable result.), the android didn’t intervene.

“Y/N, Y/A, former programmer employed by CyberLife.”

At first, Connor was stunned by the unusually broad two-year difference his meticulously calculated assessment had been off by, then he sent out another request to CyberLife demanding your personal file, although the previous one concerning the case hadn’t been answered up until now, sliming the chance of him acquiring either before dawn to 24 percent. He decided to send a third message emphasizing the urgency of his task, just for good measure, acutely aware of how futile his actions were, LED only turning yellow for a second till returning to its originally calming color once again.

It was obvious that you possessed an extensive amount of knowledge on the topic of coding, since you managed to break out of a highly secure detention cell without any of the IT-specialists at the DPD being able to retrace your steps, but this newly added information about your prior work told the Rk800 that you must’ve been familiar with android hardware too, the possibility of you tampering with _his_ android hardware turning up to be not entirely baseless.

Spinning his chair to face its back towards you, the Lieutenant sat down, pulling out a folder he had placed under his arm and throwing it onto the table, whilst carelessly taking a sip from the cup in his hands. He promptly burned his tongue, but tried to keep you from noticing, opening the paperwork, nodding appreciatively and slowly flipping through the multiple pages… that were completely blank.

Officer Wilson stifled a laugh, although this method of integrating theatrical props into the questioning had to be expected, since the time available for preparation had been cut short by Hank’s sudden decision to start an interrogation. Despite that, Connor had to shake his head at the sheer irony (he still couldn’t evaluate). His partner didn’t show this much of attention and consideration to actual reports containing actual words about actual cases.

“Did you kill Isobel D’Villér or the android that was accompanying her?”, the Lieutenant asked without further ado, not looking up from his folder, coolly taking another sip from “his” beverage.

The Rk800 prototype noticed officers Wilson and Miller holding their breaths.

“No, I didn’t.”, you stated matter-of-factly, voice not even wavering in the slightest, also tipping the edge of the cup to your lips, only to lick them seconds after a droplet of liquid spilled out of the corner of your mouth and threatened to run down to your chin in a smooth line. As Connor blinked (a reflex that made sure his lenses were kept clean and perfectly functional, triggered in an interval that made him less unsettling to human interlocutors), he registered your tongue stealthily darting out to taste an entirely different object. Then he blinked again and desperately tried to manually delete the highly questionable snippet of memory out of his entire system, naturally failing since his computing inquiry involved _you_.

“Were you present during the course of events?”

“Yes, I saw it happen.”

“Enlighten me then.”

Hank cast the folder aside and leaned forward, his underarms propped up on the table, fingers intertwined and gaze holding onto yours, without allowing you to break eye contact for the slightest second, looking a lot younger than people guessed he was most of the time. There was this glint in his eyes again, forged out of years of experience and self-assuredness gained by a lot of hard work, a glint ultimately foreign to any of Connor’s social relations modules. The Lieutenant knew what he was doing.

But so did you.

“She usually took sleeping pills to aid her insomnia, and if you mix those with Red Ice a strong hallucinogen with a resembling chemical composition to PCP will emerge, especially dangerous to someone like Isobel, since she was supposed to avoid stress after that heart operation last week.”

You smiled, but there was nothing humorous about it, like Connor’s analytical program suggested. He was aware of the emotions hid behind it, but he couldn’t name any of them, futilely running his systems for answers as you seamlessly continued.

“I saw how the android boy rounded the corner before I could and scared her shitless. I saw her die and tried to get closer, but the dumbass bot wouldn’t let me. So instead, I called the police. And that’s basically how we got here.”

Your rather vague description of events left every single person confronted to your words with a lot of different questions (probably the result you aimed for), but Hank systematically covered the next logical one, moving just a centimeter closer towards you.

“What was your relation to the deceased?”, he challenged.

“Just neighbors.”, you lied.

Connor halted in the middle of processing.

His facial expression recognition software hadn’t alerted him to that blatant untruth. Neither had his inbuilt lie detector or sense of congruency. Not a single piece of evidence contradicted your statement, and still, he was sure you had just lied, no one else in either of the rooms catching on like he did. Of course he ran some checkups to determine which of his units had provided him with the fact that you hadn’t spoken the truth, but every single one of them turned up to be futile, because not a single one of his units had come to that conclusion.

And as he looked at you, tense posture, dull eyes, he noticed something even stranger. Not only was he unusually attuned to your emotions. You also kept brushing your right thumb along your left wrist, as if in pain.


	13. Serbian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying my best, I swear.

His sorting program ran through 3564 of the possible reasons for him and you to share the same involuntary hand movement, deliberately ignoring skin irritations, character quirks or compulsive disorders as cause, but still not reaching a plausible conclusion, even though he focused his entire capacity on that single lead to ensure maximal potential of success (he had quickly tired of his _futile_ attempts to obtain information concerning you, so he was going to try everything in his power this time). Your facile touch seemed to recreate a pattern, but your wrist was turned towards yourself and away from Connor, denying him the sight of whatever you were drawing, frustrating him for a reason he couldn’t fully comprehend. His gaze was glued to the soft diffraction of your index finger tracing a symbol only visible to you. A symbol he found very important for some reason. Important enough to highlight it in his internal save storage, a feature usually reserved for breakthroughs in especially difficult investigations. But he still told himself how his priorities were _completely_ under his control.

The Rk800 calculated another way of being able to see your wrist without barging through the door, standing right next to you and simply watching over your shoulder. After a grand grant, allocated by the mayor of Detroit (who had wanted to ensure his reelection after the recent, turbulent and rather image tarnishing happenings) every single corner of every single interrogation room in the precinct had been equipped with newly developed cameras, supervising even the smallest nook inside of the interrogation room without fail, enabling the authorized personnel to rewatch important bits of conversation or record confessions beforehand, superseding the hand held devices only one person kept using, despite the major setbacks he often suffered. (“Fuck off, high tech camera equipment? I don’t even know how to take a video on my _own fucking phone_!”). Only in seldom cases were the cameras deactivated, for example if there was no official questioning to be held.

The android shook his head and cursed silently under his breath.

He allowed his head to fall forward and broke sight contact to you, forehead scrunched up, deep in processing mode to find another way of reaching an answer, until he computed a movement leisurely registered by the lower half of his visual components, causing him to observe it for a second, since his own hand was moving unison to yours in its own accord. It only took him one cycle to recognize the form it was tracing: A rather simplistic depiction of his core circuit, captured with the least amount of lines possible that still made obvious what was being displayed. In human colloquialism, it would’ve been referred to as his heart and the surrounding blood vessels. But at the place where his circulating engine should’ve been inlayed, three little dots with differing size were drawn onto his skin, time after time. The android’s brows furrowed in confusion since he didn’t know what that could possibly mean. Of course, he also ran a reconstructed picture of the pattern through his database, but as always: Not a single match turned up, and he was quite sure you wouldn’t tell him even if he asked nicely.

During his computing process, Connor missed you sass Hank, after he’d asked you about how you managed to break out of the detention cell and cause all the trouble afterwards, without anyone noticing till much later. You seemed to enjoy the back and forth with the other man, neither of you looking down on the other, but both still trying to outsmart their opponent with clever wit and biting sarcasm.

“Somebody left the door open, so I thought it was ok to get some snacks.”, you told the Lieutenant almost convincingly truthful, shrugging and rocking back in your chair, carefully avoiding any kind of strain on your sides that continued to be a sore spot for you.

“And the snack vendors were just _left open_ too, hm?”, Hank challenged, taking an appreciative sip of “his” coffee, humming into the material of the cup, obviously already taking a liking to another strange specimen that seemed to smart for its own good.

“Don’t you know that trick where you kick them? Wasn’t that a _thing_ before androids were the new kicking buckets?”

By now, you had begun copying his slang.

“And it is just a mere coincidence that exact period of time was deleted from our security footage?”

“Well damn, I’m sorry if your IT guys are shitty, but that’s like, not my fault?”

The Lieutenant was picking up on you poking fun at him by replicating his manner of speech, but instead of getting annoyed, he felt somewhat entertained by your antics. But of course, he would never admit that, and his partner wasn’t paying enough attention to notice the small smile that threatened to tug at the older man’s lips treacherously, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind the rim of his beverage.

However, he’d grown a bit exhausted. You weren’t spilling any of your secrets, and since you denied him basic information (your current address, what business you had in that hallway and what exactly you witnessed) he was left with no choice but to order your detention once again, this time including constant supervision, at least until Fowler came up with a plan of what to do with you and Hank didn’t have to deal with that annoying responsibility over a witness turned suspect again.

He left you in the room after curtly bidding you farewell, then immediately entered the adjacent room leading to the other side of the mirror, mostly expecting his partner to be awaiting him with questions and additions to his method of interrogation. Rather than that, he found Connor settled in front of the glass, momentarily fixated on his own wrist, only to look up at you again after a few fleeting moments, sharing the exact same look on his face with Sumo that had just witnessed snow for the first time (and that idiotic dog had tried to catch every single snowflake that day, utterly sullying himself with a mixture of molten water and dark mud. Hank had to wash him three times in a row until that moron could enter the house without leaving paw prints everywhere.).

Officers Wilson and Miller were engrossed in their own conversation, missing Hank’s entrance completely. 

“What the fuck is he doing?”

“I dunno. Maybe he’s got a bluescreen?”

“Oh, fuck off, androids don’t get those… or do they?”

Meanwhile Connor watched your own gaze dropping to your wrist, then how you snarled seconds later, as if annoyed at the habit you had just displayed unintendedly. He had just a single request after registering the Lieutenant in his vicinity, not even turning around to look at the older male.

“I need to talk to her.”

You turned your head and used your fingers to comb through your hair, baring your neck in the progress.

“Alone.”


	14. Portuguese

_The window stood open, a gentle breeze inviting the curtains to dance lightly against the diminishing flash of dusk, carefully gliding along rows and rows of equally outstanding buildings, faint mist gathering on the streets and on the cool glass in obscure twirls and lines, adding to the soothing atmosphere only this kind of weather could inflict on you in mere seconds. It was raining. The sound of collision all around you clearly eminent, although you had your eyes closed and head buried beneath a heap of blankets and pillows in the futile attempt to stay asleep just a little while longer. You could hear the resonance of water singing you its own song, too early for anyone to be up already, remaining the only noise you were able to listen to in your state of slumber, awaiting something without being sure what exactly it was. But you were wrong. You weren’t awaiting something. You were awaiting someone, the telltale melody of nearing steps letting you outstretch your hand into that direction instinctively._

_He caught it immediately, bowing down to press a lingering kiss into your palm. A kiss that had you squealing in sleep-drunken delight, shuffling away from the feeling of cold lips against your heated flesh, swatting out at him without really aiming or intending to hit. But instead of letting go, he just pulled you back gently, brushing his cheek against your knuckles, as if trying to record the fleeting touch to be able to recall it whenever he wanted to. Lean fingers encircled yours so carefully that you suspected he was afraid of breaking you, pressing a kiss to every single one of your nails in utter adoration._

_“I have to go.”, he had whispered against your now scorching palm, steady, deep breathes resounding so much louder than the drops colliding with the grey asphalt outside. You had halted. It didn’t sound like he was leaving for work, although that was the only thing that ripped him from your side most of the mornings you awakened to. You grew worried, gripping him just a tiny bit thighter, not willing to release him that easily.  
_

_And then you let him go. You just let him go.  
_

_You still hated yourself for that._

*

Connor was _trembling._

He watched as the hand outstretched towards the door handle was gently shaken by a tremor so illogical that his processors seemed to refuse to acknowledge, lest analyze it, assuring him that his manual functions weren’t showing the slightest sign of erroneous behavior, although unnecessarily losing control over his limbs strayed far from the usual protocol he was invoked to follow at all times. His fingers were raising and falling in different interludes, buckling against his palm in a grabbing motion, reaching out for anything in the environment around him that was only filled with air and some minor blemishes of metal, dust and highly questionable nutrients ( _The DPD and their collective addiction to unhealthy diet…_ ). In the meantime, his other hand clutching onto a superficially written fact file about you was holding perfectly still, like it was meant to.

The Rk800 was observing it happen with a certain sense of amazement, since he never had his body react against his will or refusing to listen to his simple orders prior to the day where he’d suddenly obtained an erection without provoking it in the slightest. A surplus of electric energy was being induced in his core processor, generating even faster whenever Connor tried to slow it down manually, as he simply settled on witnessing his artificial muscle-tissues pull at the artificial plastic joints in an irregular, stuttering beat, forcing himself to let it continue without his ineffective interference that wouldn’t be of any particular use to him anyway.

He wasn’t stupid. The android knew that all of the signs demonstrated by his demeanor could be interpreted as nervousness by his behaviorism module, at least on a human scale of emotion. But he was also well aware how he lacked such feelings as an android. Although he had gained his free will that had ensued his freedom subsequently, he hadn’t just turned into a human. Deep down, beneath the layer of skin, plastic and Thirium, he was just a computing unit, even if it was equipped with the most enormous processing capacity known to mankind to this point. He might’ve forgotten, _but you had reminded him after all._

He was just a high functioning machine.

And nothing more.

The trembling had stopped after he gently but purposefully pushed down the lever and entered the interrogation room with an assured step fit to make an impression on even the most obstinate criminals. It had taken him a lot of persuasion until he’d managed to get officers Wilson and Miller to leave, since both had grown curious about you during the short time they’d been allowed to witness your congeniality, while it had been practically impossible to get Hank to turn a blind eye despite his earlier threats and promise to keep the android away from you.

“I’m going to get myself a coffee, so you better make it quick.”, the old man had relented finally, a sigh evident in his eyes and multiple questions burning on his tongue that would stay unanswered anyway, no matter whether they were voiced or not. Connor was incredibly thankful for the support his partner showed him, even during these times where Hank could hardly recognize him, because the android couldn’t recognize himself. The young male was dead set on making the most out of the time he had been given, prognostic-module running through 100 of the most likely scenarios and providing him with the preferable way of reacting accordingly to ensure the highest rate of success.

He braced himself while looking up, opening his mouth and trying to meet your gaze without flinching.

The folder he’d held in his hands clattered to the ground.

Then he let the door smack shut behind him, reaching you in seconds, thus crouching beside the corner you had positioned yourself in, with arms wrapped around your angled legs just below the knees, shaking violently enough to raise a seizure alert in his program that wasn’t even remotely correct. He could register the sound of you crying, easily piercing through his calculations and strangely unbearable to his acoustic sensors.

His mission shifted anew.

**Soothe.**

He sat down next to you, back leaned to the wall, and pulled you onto his lap against his chest, carefully stroking over your hair as you clutched the material of his jacket, burying your face into it, desperately trying to breathe in something remotely resembling a rhythm. He was well aware of the breach of privacy he just commited and your lacking consent concerning the physical contact you were drowning in currently, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Somehow, he knew you _needed_ this just as much as he did.

“He’s gone.”, you told Connor with a choked voice, holding onto him as if your very existence depended on it, trying to melt into him and disappear for a moment, fleeing from the memories that haunted you, like the broken sequences that haunted him.

And he held onto you too, because he was in pain.

So much _pain._


	15. Arabic

He somehow _remembered_ how much you despised whispered nothings, so he started to hum instead, deliberately using his own voice synthesizer to not unsettle you any further, pressing his lips to your hairline and making sure you’d feel the vibration emitted by his vocal chords through his artificial ribcage. This was hardly programmed behavior, Connor was aware of that fact, but he couldn’t find the necessary focus to run another diagnostical currently, sensors concentrating on picking every single one of your slightest reactions apart, trying to adjust his actions accordingly.

It was a melody linked to you in his memory slate, the notes rushing past his inner eye, disappearing in irregular beats as if his components didn’t want him to be able to look for matches in the network later. Or as if he made them up himself with you as the main theme. But Connor hadn’t been equipped with an artistic module, so that wasn’t a likely possibility. He just continued to stroke your hair gently, swaying to an unheard beat without words but a meaning so obscure it turned completely incomprehensible, ignoring the advice his social relations unit recommended, since its first requirement was to part from you, the reason being you not having consented to his careful touch and him being a total stranger.

The android felt microelements of sodium chloride turning solid against his fabricated skin, a few trails of your tears reaching his plastic clavicle (He could compute and retrace the exact position of foreign substance on his body.) after you had snuggled yourself to his shoulder and buried you face in the crook of his neck deliberately, while your scent threatened to lead Connor to a system overload right then and there, him unobtrusively trying to shallow his average dose of air-intake per breath to keep the aroma from reaching, thus settling in his lungs again. His fixation was plainly obvious by now, obvious enough for his processing unit to retain from denying, because it would’ve only been a futile act and cost him an unnecessary amount of energy output. The logically concluding update of his priorities only followed seconds after his realization: **locate the source of this invalid infatuation and remove it.**

Despite this, the current description of his mission didn’t change.

**Soothe.**

He complied.

Meanwhile, your cries slowly subsided, the grip on his clothing loosening a bit with every passing moment. Connor found himself unwilling to let the intimate embrace end just yet, another one of the malfunctions he should’ve been a lot more concerned about than he was. Your fingers glided up his left arm probingly, touching at as if its existence was strange in itself, as if you had to make sure it was there, and he halted his breathing simulation in anticipation. Then your entire body grew rigid as you abruptly raised yourself, pulling his wrist towards you, unintentionally mirroring the earlier happenings, while shoving the sleeves out of your way, turning the skin upwards to inspect it beneath the cold light raining down from above.

You were looking for something, very intently even, gaze scraping along his slightly freckled membrane and causing his blood to distribute unevenly again. You couldn’t find it. No matter how thoroughly you searched, you couldn’t find it. You pushed against his chest, falling out of his lap, clearly frantic to gain as much distance between you as possible, demeanor shifting completely yet again as you scrambled to get on your legs.

His recognitional programs kindly informed him about the main feeling you portrayed right now.

Pure, unaltered _horror._

“Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I just forgot you weren’t -”

Your words broke off abruptly as you winced, facing him with a scowl the next time you looked up, the fear in your eyes carefully stowed away in a part of your mind he couldn’t reconstruct.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”, you demanded, arms crossed in front of your chest and back straightened, an obviously tense posture that reeked of hostility. The regained distance shouldn’t have felt like the punch Reed had packed him back when he refused to make him coffee, but it did. He felt the air being knocked out of his lungs at the impact of your tone, something that never happened before either.

Connor also stood up, his stature alarmingly angled towards you, raising both hands in what he was hoping to portray a calming gesture: “My sensors informed me about your distress. Since I’m the android sent by CyberLife to aid the police during their investigations, a victim relation program has been added to my database, and that’s why I was trying to console you.”

Such a blatant lie. Anything concerning the victims aside from evidence and witnessed occurrences had been set to be ignored, because it wasn’t of any informational value. But he couldn’t stop talking.

“You seem to be in emotional pain, so frequenting a professional should be your current priority. I’m also sensing a rapid decline in your bodily fluid storage. To prevent dehydration a glass of water should be sufficient. I will go and get you one now.”

What was he doing? His speech patterns had grown a little less informal and more colloquial during the time he’d spent with Hank. Why was he back to his unnecessarily poised and refined way of talking again? Why did he feel so _hurt_ by the way you were distancing yourself from him, although none of his pain stimulants were activated.

"I apologize for the intrusion.”, he stated, bowing ever so slightly.

Then he rushed out of the room, away from your disgust towards him and his inability to endure it, his flight mechanism buzzing in the back of his head, confirming that he had finally lost control completely.


	16. Croatian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what. The next one will be extra lenghty too, updated in a few hours AND it will contain smut.
> 
> Look at how I spoil yall.

He was growing hard again.

Why, for the love of RA9, was he _growing hard again?_

“Shit.”, Connor hissed under his breath, passing a group of officers idly chatting away next to interrogation room 3, one of them elbowing the man stood beside her and gesturing towards the android passing them in an evident hurry, not wasting any time on pleasantries like greeting them with a nod or a gesture of comparable politeness. Dead pixels were appearing in front of his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly and lose focus for the umpteenth time, as his module in authority over balance shut off and his legs threatened to give out, knees almost bending into the wrong direction.

He ran another diagnostical and calculated the estimated time left until he turned off, a precautionary measure meant to primarily assure him that he wouldn’t shut down in the middle of a hallway, but his body had different ideas.

**Three seconds till emergency stand-by implementation.**

Three seconds, not nearly enough time for him to reach the abandoned lavatory, not even enough time to hide in the nearby supply closet he could track down in one of the blueprints he’d added to his database after gaining authorized access to them. For the first time during his existence, the Rk800 prototype was at loss towards the most logical line of action, no protocol, no system advice, not even any error-message providing him with knowledge of how to diffuse a situation this desperate.

**3**

Connor was hit with a deep simulation of **[word search complete]** _dread_ , as he registered his sensors shut off one by one and his processing unit deactivate, frantically reaching out for something he couldn’t grab, nor see. His mind was breaking away like a faulty code would, until no coherent thought was left, until no piece of him was activated anymore.

**2**

Then everything turned black and he remembered.

**1**

But not really.

**Reconstruction.**

*

“Where the hell is he running off to?”, the tall officer asked her partner with curiosity seeping through her tone, nudging him with her elbow and obviously staring after the android that had just passed them in a hurry. After Connor had become a official addition to the DPD work force, advocates and enemies alike had caused turmoil in the precinct, turning the Rk800 into their favorite topic of gossip during working hours, whenever Fowler wasn’t around.

“Maybe he’s got to take a shit.”, the male next to her answered dutifully. “Just look at his face. Poor guy probably constipation, took some laxatives and mistook something else for a mere fart.”

The female cop scrunched up her nose and ordered him to shut up, but it was too late.

“Shit happens.”

Silence.

“He literally doesn’t _do_ digestion, and I hate you.”

The male began laughing patronizingly (but still good-naturadely), slinging an arm around her shoulder that she tried to shake off (in a joking manner).

“Aw, come on, don’t be like this. You know that you actually adore the way – _Did he just faceplant into that wall_?”

*

 

_He observed you, as his synthetic skin faded away to reveal the immaculate white hidden beneath, only traversed by few areas of grey, bar codes or component numbers with added identification-labels. Without the fabricated layer expanding across his artificial body, he almost felt naked, although it was highly illogical and not approved by his processing unit running hot in the background of his computing mechanism. But he also felt less restricted this way, not having to calculate the way his forged epidermis taunted whenever he moved to avoid unneeded lacerations. He was free, but also vulnerable. How ironic (He had learned to judge circumstances based on rhetoric aspects during his time with you, since you practically left him with no other choice.) that the thing he sought after so mindlessly was able to destroy him so easily._

_That’s why he shifted uncomfortably, almost nervously, as he waited for you to finally turn around and face him – minus the deceptive shell he wore, hot electricity running through his circuits and threatening to activate his ventilation systems through disruptive commands._

_You had asked, nearly begged him so many times, but he’d never complied, always a new excuse on the tip of his million-dollar-forensic-laboratory tongue, using elaborate searches through the network he was linked to, saving all the information that would fuel his irrational resistance just a little while longer. Why he had deemed this as the single most favorable of all times, neither he himself nor his modules could comprehend. You had only averted your gaze for a second, hand reaching out for the cup of tea you had left on the counter, happily chattering on about some recent, completely irrelevant happenings. His reconstruction estimated that you’d recoil slightly at first, maybe even stifle a yelp, asking him to reactivate his skin in the following minutes exposed to his true silhouette. But that was alright. That was to be expected. You were only human after all, and humans generally had a hard time coping with anything that differed from them or their world view._

_You turned around, effectively halting the engine powering his lungs without intending too, all of his sensors focusing on the look that would be reflected in your eyes, awaiting it patiently, expecting it with fear.  
_

_And then you simply continued talking, not the slightest beat passing in form of silence. Taking a little sip in-between sentences, you informed him that you forgot to lock your door on the way out, and that you’d go check whether the cookies you were baking were ready. So mundane. So naturally  
_

_As you tried to walk past him, he grabbed your wrist – something he knew you hated, but really, that thought was completely lost on him – and made you look at him, only him. His sensors couldn’t scan anything out of the ordinary on your face. You just looked at him in silent surprise. No scrunch of the nose, and no wrinkle of the forehead. Every little sign of distress he had learned to read from your face as if it were a case file was missing, bestowing the young man with a to him foreign sense of baffled amazement, mixed with a tinge of surprise.  
_

_“Aren’t… Aren’t you bothered?”, he asked, not able to keep the tremor ripping through his body out of his now trembling voice, still in disbelieve over your reaction.  
_

_“By what?”, you asked. Dumbly? Cluelessly? **[word search complete]** Innocently.  
_

_Connor just blankly stared at you for a while.  
_

_Then he slumped, raising his hand in front of his eyes and pressing his forehead to its edge, staggering slightly beneath the crushing weight of something being lifted off his tense shoulders, pure, unaltered relief flooding his sensors. You, in the meantime, watched him intently, and slowly understood, a flicker of amusement gliding across your features as your metaphorical light bulb finally started to shine.  
_

_“Oh no. No you… I can’t believe you sometimes, you goddamn dork!”_

_You began to laugh, kind of harshly actually, as you gripped his face and made him drop his hand, retaining it from covering his eyes effectively, thus revealing the utter adoration evident in your facial expression, only reserved for the android in front of you. His core unit stuttered in response to that sight.  
_

_“Why the fuck should it brother me? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one? How did you even reach that dumbass conclusion, seriously? Yes, it’s kind of strange, but you really look great like this. Honestly. Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll just need a bit of time to get used to it completely, since the entire no-skin-thing is messing with my mental capacity, but you can do whatever makes you more comfortable afterwards, understood?”_

_He was more comfortable whenever he knew you were content._

_“_ Get yourself an android boyfriend _, they said._ They aren’t as troublesome as human guys _, they said. But look at you having ridiculous anxiety over ludicrous worries. You’re a fucking 10, scared about a 5-on-a-good-day not liking the way you actually look, you must be shitting me.”_

 _ _He didn’t deserve you, smiling up at him sweetly, while adding so many curses into your little monologue that even Hank seemed prim and proper in comparison, so he acted on impulse (This occurrence was not as rare as it should be, whenever you were around.) and pulled you close. Close enough to make you gasp for air, complaining about him crushing you and the plastic of his arms jutting into the soft flesh your hips.__  
__  
You were lying, since you snuggled deeper into his embrace, despite your vociferous protests, both of you relishing in the warmth the other provided.  


_And Connor was happy._


	17. Mandarin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> almost there... almost at the good part...

Hot breath fanned over your neck and you dimly asked yourself, whether he had adjusted its temperature with the primarily objective of messing with you, as his embrace only grew in proximity and deliciously warm, strangely smooth fingertips slid underneath your shirt, skimming over your sides in slow, circulating movements. It would’ve been easy to melt into him right then and there, but as one of his hands wandered higher and the other lower, you started to squirm against his stupidly solid chest, trying to get the surprisingly _dumb_ android to let you go for a second.

“No, Connor, we’ve been over this. You can’t give me your consent, since you don’t even know what it means to…” Your mouth fell shut in seconds, before the words could force their way out, a deep blush settling on your cheekbones as you realized what the hell you had been about to tell him. “I don’t even wanna say it.”, you admitted sheepishly, stare affixed to a nondescript spot in the distance.

“Have intercourse?”, he added, trying to be helpful, being _anything else_ but helpful and almost causing you to choke on your own breath. He allowed you to take a step back without letting go entirely, gaze meeting yours with a sense of certainty that let the confidence in your decision waver, although you _knew_ it was the only acceptable choice you could make. You shivered, but not out of arousal.

“It already feels wrong to hear you say it out loud.”

“I could use the term “sex” instead, if it –“

“Just. Shut up. Please.”

You were flaming red by now, either by his close vicinity or his serious lack of filter, holding out your spread fingers in front of you to underline your request gesturally. Connors palm rested on your lower hip, while the other hand held you by your side, dangerously close to the lace of your bra, sending dangerous shivers down your back and up your thighs. The young man in front of you only used this self-assured manner of action and speech, when he was on the job and interrogating some criminal sleazebag, in contrary always strangely shy, almost awkward around you, as if there weren’t any social-relation-protocols on how to behave in your proximity. But the glint in his eyes told you that he was well aware of what he was doing right now, as his hand just slipped just that bit higher and cupped your chest lightly, causing you to bite your lip to stifle the needy moan threatening to resound. The feeling of plastic against your skin should’ve been foreign. Instead, it shot little sparks into your lower regions, making you tremble in anticipation, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that there wasn’t going to be anything to anticipate. You had to remain steadfast.

All the while this damned android didn’t surrender even the slightest change in his expression, only tilting his head lightly and watching you intently, surely scanning your vital stats again, without asking beforehand.

“Y/N, I can assure you that I fully understand the consequences of my actions and have spent the last few days gathering knowledge considering this topic, adding a few very persuasive -”

He leaned forward, tongue darting out and licking a line from your shoulder up to your ear, without leaving salvia or any comparable substances behind, only a sense of scorching electricity shooting through your pores right into your head and disassembling every tiny bit of rationality that had still remained there. You reflexively arched into the feeling, relishing in something you didn’t even know you needed until now, not able to keep your movements under control anymore.

“tricks to my database. If you aren’t sure how much I want you, I am willing to provide an elaborate example, for as long as you are able to endure it.” Then he took another step back and let go of you, your skin immediately cooling down and instantly yearning his touch as he added: “But if this makes you uncomfortable in the slightest, I will naturally halt my advances till further notice.” Finally, something in his face shifted, but after you saw the expression tugging at his lips you wished he was back to his emotionless stare, his bold smirk weakening your knees and making you shiver involuntarily once gain. You started wondering whether that dickhead actually had the _nerve_ to tease you, while spewing a monologue that could’ve been written down in some pretentious doctoral thesis. But then you caught yourself liking how he subliminally admitted there was no way he’d stop trying in the future if you denied him now.  As if he was starving for you just as much as you’d been starving for him. You were completely fixated on him. Obsessed even. You just couldn’t get enough no matter how much you took Connor in.

Honestly, it felt weird, listening to his version of dirty talk in that strangely polite tone. But his voice had grown significantly deeper, huskier, pulling at your heartstrings in a way that gave you some serious whiplash trying to withstand it. You’d have to ask him later whether that had been intentional as well, but right now you were way too lightheaded to formulate a simple question.

“This is so out of character for you.”, you stated, inching closer by a centimeter hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Of course Connor noticed. His sight zeroed in on the negligibly small movement, and his smirk grew to depict an adorable smile that practically hit you full force. “Is it?”, he hummed, also inching closer just that little bit, his skin reappearing concurrently, edges shining in that beautiful blue color you loved so much, the sight of him resembling a human again eerie and beautiful at the same time. You would’ve been lying if you stated you weren’t a little intimidated, but he was too captivating for you to care. All coherent thought was lost on you. 

“Yes, it is, you don’t… Do androids even… feel the urge to…”, you couldn’t concentrate on what you wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. Quite on the contrary, that sadistic piece of plastic seemed to enjoy your predicament, smile growing until it threatened to split his ridiculously handsome face.

“I have. Whenever I think of you.”

“Whenever? Isn’t that a bit much? Like, do you have endless stamina or something.”

You seriously considered just dropping dead in that moment to end the tragedy for all involved parties.

“I was trying to be romantic. The internet suggested it.”

He chuckled and that sound really made you want to drop dead.

“Well you fai-“

Your words were cut off as he crashed his lips onto yours, pulling you close to him once more and tilting his head in a way that made your insides churn. You reciprocated instantly, hands locking behind his neck and standing up on tip toes to be able to reach his taller frame. He didn’t taste like anything. Only warmth and something utterly Connor greeted you as you pressed closer to him, tongue gliding over his provocatively, hands burying themselves in his hair. It was short, but long enough to hold on to a few strands. You remembered how difficult it had been to create that texture back then, silky smooth, while naturally disheveled. All the frustration had been well worth it though, you loved the feeling it caused rubbing against your fingertips.

You slung one leg around his angular hipbones for better leverage, and he responded by heaving the other one up too, crossing them behind his back and settling his hands on your ass to hoist you up. You were just thinking about how totally provocative that was, when he gave you a teasing squeeze and made you part from him with a faint shriek.  

Then you laughed and punched his shoulder, seriously doubting he even felt it.

“Just how much porn did you watch, you damn _machine_.”

It was a term of endearment back then, filled with so much love that his eyes lit up at the tone of it, holding you impossibly closer to himself, never willing to let you go.

“I’ve skimmed through about 3428 hours of video material regarding sexual activities. I’ve been very thorough in my research.”

He sounded so stupidly proud. You gave him a look.

“Rhetorical question?”, he inquired.

“Rhetorical question.”, you confirmed.

Connor was out of breath that was necessary to cool his units, but he decided his systems didn’t need the air as much as he needed you right now, and bend forward to capture your lips once more.


	18. Norwegian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SMUT.

You almost hadn’t made it to the bed.

But now he was towering above you, straddling your hips with his knees and bending down to press another open-mouthed kiss to your lips, delving in the way you trashed against him and pulled on his synthetical hair to yank him impossibly closer. A vast amount of different substances greeted him upon doing so, like the water you had consumed earlier, or some traces of coffee left behind on your teeth and the sides of your mouth. He could’ve ventured deeper, found out a lot more about your dietary habits and the composition of your drool, but his priority was already set on something else.

_You. You. You._

He lapped up the aroma of something that was completely _you_ , tongue swiping along the roof of your mouth and plunging deeper, trying to consume everything, even swallowing the little noises that threatened to spill out of your throat and concluding that they were the ones that tasted the best, relishing in the way your saliva coated the dry insides of his cavity. His sensors were focused on you and only you, registering the slightest movement, slightest sound and slightest change in temperature your body was providing, his ventilation systems kindly informing him that both of you were burning up to almost hazardous degrees, advising an immediate halt to your actions to avoid a heat-induced shutdown. In your case, it was because of the heightened dopamine-production his sensors could pick up on, estrogen, progesterone and luteinizing hormones filling the air along with the unique scent that made it hard for him to continue computing effectively. For him, all of this was only caused by a human woman he knew for half a month, fully aware how utterly _stupid_ it was to be so fixated on you already, without being able to care about that piece of logical thought at all.

Connor decided that he wanted to confirm whether the rest of you was just as ~~compelling~~ ~~seducing~~ addicting as your mouth, parting from your lips to be rewarded with an unhappy whimper and you unconsciously following after him. His voice synthesizer let a chuckle resound without him actively ordering it to do so. Then he touched your nose with his gently and pulled back again to venture deeper. 

Yes, of course, there had been these shy little pecks you had given him whenever the situation allowed it, and the little kisses he’d pressed to your forehead or temples whenever he bode you good night. But neither of you had dared to address the topic of wanting more. Not once. Not a single time in the days you practically only spent with each other as company. And now, as both of you were giving in, there wasn’t any rationality that could’ve stopped either of you from completely devouring the other.

Your shirt was lost somewhere along the way, just like his tie, his button-up not so buttoned up anymore and the sides of it hanging loosely to the ledges of his jacket, revealing what was hidden underneath. His skin was smooth, little dips added with moles to make it seem more real, slight freckles littered here and there, completed with a six-pack that had less aesthetical and more practical value, artificiality only betrayed by the lack of hair on his body. For some reason, Connor was content about his appearance. For the first time he could recall, he was glad to be considered “good looking” by human standards, since it seemed to appeal to your understanding of handsomeness. Then his system uploaded an augmented memory on how you weren’t disgusted by his actual plastic body coming into contact with you to his activated database, causing him to let out a shuddering breath, as he started to strain against his pants with painful intensity. His lenses dilated slowly until his iris were almost completely repressed. You saw his brown eyes practically turn black and earnestly asked yourself whether people could die of sex appeal. 

The palm of your hand darted out to sneak underneath the material of his clothing and clutch itself to the soft, forged flesh of his shoulder, and strangely, since you were about three degrees colder than him, he shivered at the touch, his sensors registering the difference in temperature unusually precisely. Every single sensor kept focused on you and only you, measuring your vitals, the way you moved, slight differences in the noises that rushed out of your throat. But instead of calculating them, combining them to a complete picture, everything seemed to rush past him in a incoherent string of information, without him being able to hold a grasp on anything he was experiencing. Not the scent, not the taste, not the touch, although they were surely imprinted into his mind by now. He couldn’t record the sounds you made although he wanted to, no, although he _needed_ to. Hank had tried so many times to fill him with enthusiasm for any sort of music, but the only melodic sound he could listen to again and again on repeat was the way you tried to stifle the noises rushing out of your throat.

You moaned his name and he halted a centimeter from your skin, looking up in surprise and feeling something stir in his lower regions.

The Rk800 tried to recreate the exact movement from before, and as his hand grazed your chest, another broken sound escaped you throat involuntarily, making electric current burst through his circuits so quickly multiple error-messages popped up in response.

_“Connor.”_

His usual lack of expression and standoffishness were dissipated completely, as he remained completely still, making you risk opening an eye and look for the reason that kept him from continuing. All that was left now was a dangerous glint in his iris and the way he unhurriedly licked his lips before his tongue came to contact with the area of skin directly below your navel and drew a lazy circle into your very being. You grew tense, letting out sounds that only grew in volume, both of you ~~ignoring~~ forgetting the fact that these walls were thin.

He hooked a finger around the band of your shorts and slowly dragged them down, fingertip grazing along your lower stomach deliberately. He could sense you growing uncomfortable by the way you turned your head away, trying to hide your face from his observing gaze, and Connor realized he didn’t like that. Eyebrows scrunched up in concentration, he threw the disruptive cloth off to some corner of the room as if it had offended him personally, placed one of your legs over his shoulder with a gentle touch and pressed a lithe kiss to the inside of your thigh, just inches away from your core. Your body tension grew even more rigid as you took both of your hands and buried your face in them, blush still evident through the gaps of your fingers and the way your ears turned a darker shade of red, muttering something unintelligible that sounded an awful lot like curses directed at him. 

“Don’t do that.”, he demanded without planning to sound so harsh or even say it out loud, lips wandering a tiny bit higher, straining you a tiny bit further. He remained perfectly still in that position, only peppering little kisses along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, pressing his palm against your - to him - exquisite legs, wordlessly letting you know that he wouldn’t continue without your compliance. He left you with no choice. A strangled noise escaped your throat as you finally dropped your hands and stared at him in an embarrassed, but stubborn challenge, causing the same, insufferable smirk to spread over his features that had made you blow the human equivalent of a fuse only minutes earlier.

“Happy now?”, you forced out, tone breaking to pieces at the edges of your words, making you feel like a damned, hormonal teenager all over again.

“Thank you.”, he responded pleasantly, not bothered by the underlying venom to your voice.

And you realized that, at this point, he could’ve said “ _good girl_ ” and it would’ve had the same, politely charming but downright filthy connotation mockingly echoing in your ears right now. You were completely and utterly screwed, because you bit your lips in anticipation following that provocative statement, instead of kicking him in the gut right then and there and trying to escape when you still could.

His gaze was affixed on you, keeping you in place, as he licked a long line over the thin material of your underwear and hummed against your skin.

You brutally arched into the feeling, hands twisting in the sheets, toes curling and mouth opening without any sound spilling out, forehead scrunched up and eyes fluttering closed, all the while he was hit with something drilling itself so deeply into his core unit that his computing module couldn’t classify it immediately. It took him some time until it finally came up with a fitting description, system alerts blaring through his mind and not leaving room for much else.

Ravening _hunger._

He pressed his entire mouth onto the cloth and breathed out, tongue mimicking patterns he’d copied from his research until he simply pressed it flat against you just to _taste_ every single thing that complied you. You were moving too much, the sensory overload getting to your head and causing you to try and back off, but his scorching gaze didn’t let you escape. After throwing the bothering jacket off, strong arms encircled your thighs, brushing against your ass in a scandalizing manner and coming to rest on your stomach, gently pressing you down as Connor licked once more, stupidly happy by how wet you were already.

You let him do all of this to you, shaking with pleasure and not able to stifle any of the sounds escaping you.

Because of him.

You were aroused, words completely lost on you.

Because of him.

You were here in his arms.

_Just for him._

Connors hot breath fanned over your core, hands wandering down, impatiently tugging on the last piece of clothing that separated him from you. Then the wall to your right side exploded in a mixture of deafening noise and blinding light.

Closely following that occurence, everything went to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.


	19. Czech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are finished. Now I'll be able to update daily again.
> 
> If you want to make decisions relevant to the story, go look at https://lowlaif.tumblr.com/post/174973381648/18-anyone-got-holy-water-i-ran-out-of-it-halfway .
> 
> A pool is added to the end of every chapter, enabling you to shift the story however you'd like. Enjoy!

Connor immediately surged forward to cover your body with his, arm subconsciously but systematically raised against the oncoming projectile his inner chronometer estimated to reach both of you exactly **tWoPOintThReeFOurfiVe** seconds after the compressional wave that could possibly transfer enough force to burst your fragile eardrums, his hands pressed to your ears in logical conclusion and visual sensors fixed on whatever would expect him after most of the brightness and swirling dust had settled down.

But for some reason, the impact never came, and the debris never hit you, dust lazily dancing in his area of sight, while the blinding light seemed to seep father into the room, instead of fading like it should according to the understanding of the laws concerning physics he’d been equipped with. There was a lack of noise too: His acoustic components couldn’t register more than the Thirium bursting through his temples, intense enough to drown out any other sound, but not actually doing so currently. He had stopped breathing in order to focus his systems on the _vital_ mission: protecting you, although you had proven you didn’t need protection when you’d first met him. He was tense, ready to overrule his own safety protocols to make sure you wouldn’t be harmed. Connor probably would’ve been able to rip somebody’s throat out at this point, hastily calculating whether his lower jar would be able to withstand the needed effort to do so with another android and not even slightly caring about the negative result his processing unit provided. It was irrational and unlike his AI, he was aware of that.

_Although you had proven you didn’t need protection when you’d first met him._

The warmth radiating beneath him diminished, his gaze falling to you instantly, witnessing how the edges of your silhouette slowly blurred, then dissipated in a string of white coding lingering behind as if to taunt him, causing him to let his hand glide over the bedsheets where you – or rather the replicated image of you conjured up by his memory disc – had be laying just a few moments prior. He understood quickly, realized it was necessary to let go of this mirage to be able to move on and further gain his memories back, but he didn’t _want_ to. The Rk800, an android made to be highly logical and functional, tried to fight his own reconstruction, just because he didn’t want to part from a mere illusion depicting you. The illusion where you confronted him with something else than disgust. The illusion he had yearned for without realizing.

Although Connor’s emotional dilemma should have halted the process, his lost records were returning, broken sequences starting to bind together at their ripped edges, surrendering him a rush of information he could barely comprehend in the short timespan it was rushing in on him.

Connor remembered how he’d first met you, a mixture of water, tears and blood, topped with a lopsided smirk that had made the first error-message pop up so promptly in his interface that it had startled him a bit, almost causing him to drop you and raising the most likable protests from a human he had ever heard (although his main object of comparison was Gavin Reed, so the android took into consideration that his judgement might’ve been clouded from the start.).

He remembered how he’d grown to know you, your quirks and the way you’d scrunch up your nose, whenever you found something _completely plausible_ he did amusing for some reason (“ _Connor, seriously. Quit checking my blood level and trying to feed me with sources of iron, I’m telling you it’s supposed to drop a bit right now. It’s a thing with most female human or didn’t CyberLife add_ that _info into your omniscient database_?”). He had a cleaned recording of the little snort you’d sometimes add when laughing, the way you determinedly searched for new terms of endearment to call the android, although he liked how you whispered his name the most, since someone as collected as you would still start blushing whenever you did, despite him not being an adequate partner for a human at all.

No point in denying it.                

He had known it back then, he knew it now. Connor wasn’t stupid after all.

The Rk800 felt his pump regulator pick up in momentum slowly, systems whirring to live as shut down sectors were reactivated again, everything in him preparing a reboot. It was too soon. He needed more time. There was something unidentifiable hindering him from reaching the last bit of memory storage that still denied him access.

He could recall your panicked expression as foreign hands ripped you away from each other, two of the ones trying to hold you down getting knocked down in the process as you delivered a swift kick with such lethal force he felt the need to add it to his movement module only for the fluency of it all, delirious because of something added to his Thirium without his consent, unable to fight back as ferociously as you did, deeply ashamed about it. Somehow, he registered how beautiful you had looked back then, the last sequence he could follow being the sound of you breaking down, screaming his name in a voice that was hardly human anymore. Animalistic. Raw.

_Hurt._

The only thing Connor wished he’d forgotten.

 

**//Reconstruction completed.**

**System checkup completed.**

**Diagnosis: No systems warnings.**

**Rk800 prototype #313 248 317 – 51 fully functional.**

**Added name: Connor.**

**Reactivating.//**


	20. Estonian

Connor’s sensors recalled the lingering scent of burnt cookies forgotten in the oven, soft sounds caused by exchanged breaths resounding in his acoustic components and the abiding feeling of you clenching around him with a sharp gasp, as his lenses dilated and constricted until his visual gauge finally cleared once more. He was laying on the ground in a rather unfortunate position, the tension of his artificial musculature returning in portions, only reaching his elbow and leaving his fingers immobile. Hank was shaking him. The android barely registered the resulting vibration, computing unit still in the process of restarting his body, thus not able to preoccupy itself with anything else. His mind was hazy. Too much information was being added to his database during a time span of a few seconds. No one could withstand that amount of pressure easily, not even someone with an AI as advanced as his. Especially not an AI as advanced as his.

For some reason he couldn’t comprehend in his overwhelmed state, the Lieutenants vitals were gradually increasing to worrisome levels, bpm reaching an all-time high of 131, while his voice was growing in volume too, repeatedly yelling something that the android later identified as his name with an underlying tone of panic. Apparently, passing out in the hallway wasn’t just an unusual occurrence to humans after all, so the Rk800 was urged on by his units to search through his protocols for the most suitable excuse for his unusual behavior.

The one containing records linked to Hank and the era he grew up in suggested “ _an unexpected windows 10 update_ ”.

Connor wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, and he currently couldn’t use the network to find out either since his capacity was limited, but it sounded plausible enough since he knew that certain program had been one of his first predecessors. Instead, he settled for an unconvincing “I’m fine Lieutenant” though, while trying to shake his worried partner off and raise himself to a more dignified posture. But this line of action only seemed to aggravate the other male, who clutched him harder and launched into a rant that made several heads snap around to them if they hadn’t been watching through the corners of their eyes already.

“You’re fine?”, Hank echoed disbelievingly at first, sounding a bit like he had just lost a big chunk of his fragile sanity while halting in his movements, staring at the android that had the audacity to blink up at him innocently. As if he actually meant what he just said. (He did.)

Then the Lieutenant inhaled.

“You’re _fine_?”, he clamored, causing even the intern on the far other side of the room to wince, still hit harshly with the volume of the scream drilling itself through the walls and heard faintly in the interrogation room you currently resided in, making you snort in amusement, unperturbedly continuing to pick your way out of the electrical lock, already halfway through the first half of the quantum-cryptographically-generated password without a single true tear slipping down your cheeks.

“Oh, fuck you, Connor. Seriously. Fuck your scrawny, plastic ass.”

“Ho boy, there we go.”, Wilson murmured, hitting enter on the paragraph of the file he’d just complied, well aware he wouldn’t get further until the inevitably following outburst was over, thus leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable for the show, just like about any other officer in a vicinity of a hundred meters. The quiet sound of somebody starting a video on their smartphone cut through the momentary silence. Somebody had to stifle their excited laughter. A chair creaked under the weight of officer Miller leaning forward expectantly. And Hank did not disappoint any of them:

“You were fucking fine leaving for that bullshit CyberLife crap case on your own. You were fine disappearing for fucking _weeks_ after that without the slightest sign of life too. And you were completely fucking fine when you called me missing a fucking arm stuck in some old android dump, acting like you forgot how the fuck to act like yourself. And then you pass out in the middle of the station after talking to some random chick that makes you go all bluescreen, only to tell me you’re fucking _fine_? Fuck you, asshole, I hope you choke on some Traci-cock. Fucking dickhead.”

“Language!”, Fowler quipped through the half-opened door of his glass office, only remembering he was supposed to ignore any case of disturbance in the precinct if he didn’t want to be forced to step in due to work guidelines afterwards.

Now, finally, Connor was regenerated and his program running faultlessly. The locked-up memories had coalesced with his very personality, seemingly altering his entire line of programming without him allowing it to do so. His protocols demanded that he’d apologize. His common sense urged him to explain. But he, he himself, without the beforehand added coding wanted to do something entirely different. And it was so ridiculously easy to do what he wanted now.

That’s why he secretly slipped a hand into the pocket of the older male’s jacket too.

“I can’t choke, Hank.”, the Rk800 responded, sounding every bit of smug, although he shouldn’t be responding to such obvious worry with sarcasm and felt _bad_ moments after his mouth closed.

“Fucking say that again with a 12-inch iron rod shoved down your esophagus.”, the grey-haired male answered immediately, making more stifled laughter pipe up, effectively dissolving the tense atmosphere that had settled over the scene, although his shoulders were still squared, and his hands were still buried into the thankfully sturdy material of Connor’s jacket.

“Is that a metaphor?”, the female officer from before whispered into the rough direction of her partner that had seen Connor practically hit the wall with his face minutes prior. His answer wasn’t audible from the android’s vantage point. But that didn’t matter to him.

“Hank, I need to talk to her.”, Connor stated, before the other male could launch back into a soliloquy, setting his priorities once more, now with more knowledge than he had before.

“Could you literally have said anything el-“

“Please. I’ll explain everything afterwards. Just this single time, Hank. It’s important.”

In this moment, the Rk800 remembered a lot of things that had been wrongly deleted. That’s why he could mend his features into the puppy-dog-look he knew would make his partner give in in mere seconds, painfully aware of how he exploited his close relationship to the other just to get what he wanted. But somehow, his want concerning you always seemed to be a _need._ He couldn’t bring himself to regret his behavior. _  
_

Hank scowled and averted his gaze in exactly 0.43 minutes.

“Fine. You’re still in trouble, though.”

And as Connor left (in a hurry, since his newfound-oldfound memories told him you’d try to run and probably manage to do so), Hank scratched the back of his neck and turned around, only noticing the gazes affixed to him in this exact moment, instantaneously barking: “What the fuck are ya’ll looking at?”

A lot of heads were whipped around at that, seemingly occupying themselves with their work, although not a single one of them concentrate after what just happened. Even officer Wilson started pressing random keys, making gibberish appear on his screen, just to escape the piercing gaze of one mad old man with an unhealthy addiction to fast food and a very strange, very cunning pet android.

Hank shook his head, recalling the sharp look in Connor’s eyes. A look he’d feared to be lost forever, when he had found the Rk800 missing an arm, that only resembled his previous partner in his roughest behaviorisms and looks.

Then the old male allowed a relieved sigh to escape his throat and a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips.

He shook his head once more, chuckling to himself.

_“He’s back.”_


	21. Finnish

The Rk800 observed you slip through the minuscule gap in the security system you kept finding reiteratively, heavy and oversized boots fitting your fluent movements smoothly enough to cause almost no sounds audible to the limited, human receptors, no matter how keen the listener was, while you were wiping at your cheeks despite rough sleeves in the futile attempt to get rid of the oligoelements of salt that had settled themselves there. Somehow, Connor felt the urge to meet your nearing frame halfway and stroke over the reddening flesh of your zygomatic bones – an unusual instruction provided by his systems without him having gotten accustomed to his own unpredictability yet, thus leaving him not entirely confident in how to react in the most favorable approach. But he had gathered enough information on you to be aware that you’d swat his hand away in seconds, before he was within a touching-distance of your skin, rendering that estimated option counterproductive from the very start.

According to the newly reconstructed parts of his memory disc, you never showed obvious complications with signs of affection and endearment being exchanged between the two of you ahead to this juncture, leaning into the little kisses and soft brushes of fingertips instinctively, reciprocating them if you could and trying to tease the android during the most unfitting times, relishing in the way his index finger would sometimes twitch involuntarily as soon as you’d almost pushed him too far, never once breaking his ubiquitous poise despite trying so hard (blissfully unaware said poise didn’t exist whenever you were around in the first place).

Connor could even recall an exact recording of how good you sounded, begging for his touch in a hushed but nevertheless urgent plea, one of the many addicting tones to your voice he catalogued carefully and maybe even the slightest bit _satisfied_ with himself.

(What a petty thought he definitely should not have had, since something stirred down his lower regions in interest, after hearing you moan his name in the dangerously realistic replica of your unique wavelength conjured up by his software.)

Passing some officers barely sparing your silhouette a fleeting glance, because you had mastered the art of deception and looking like you belonged somewhere without pulling too much unwanted attention to yourself, you allowed your poise to change, expertly rising yourself to a kinesics of self-assuredness, although you seemed rather tense with shoulders squared and chin held up just that tiny bit too high, one hand doubtlessly fumbling with the thirium-ring by brushing against it with your thumb beneath the sweater that threatened to swallow your lithe form entirely. Meanwhile the Rk800 remained out of your calculated sight, unfairly using his enhanced visual components to keep a track of your movements, while simultaneously making sure he wouldn’t be seen watching you this intently. It was amusing, really: You looked like a police cadet returning from field work, your baggy, inconspicuous clothing providing you with the appearance of a rookie new to the force. A “police cadet” that had taken out 5 men simultaneously the first time he’d met you, breaking someone’s neck with your thighs in a movement that shouldn’t have been as aesthetically pleasing as it had been to him back then. Still a sight to behold after the 25th time he’d replayed it on his interface, fluent movements resembling an elaborate dance, rather than an equally elaborate fight to death.

You didn’t startle as Connor appeared right in front of you, only a few steps separating him from the entrance with his lean body conveniently placed between you and the sole plausible route of escape, cutting off the implementation of your thoughtfully laid out plan and making you roll your eyes in feigned exasperation. He was a highly advanced android built to aid the police forces with their investigations after all, so of course he’d have his scan affixed to your heels the second you left the interrogation room. But you had incipiently planned for him to shadow you, and for you to thoroughly entertain him until a chance to flee offered itself, thus exerting your capabilities to their limit, using every single advantage against him to ensure your getaway. Now the chances of leaving the precinct without a strikingly conspicuous machine on your tail grew alarmingly slim, assuring you to be deeply annoyed by how carelessly you had messed up yet another line of action.

“Where’s my water?”, you demanded. No use denying what you were about to do, since both of you knew you’d only start lying if he requested an explanation.

The android passed you a coffee cup filled to the brim hidden behind his back until now, apologizing for the lack of other dishes to be found in the DPD and his tardiness in taking so long to fulfill such an uncomplicated quest.

You knew the translucent liquid wouldn’t be able to quench the different kind of thirst you felt as his gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips and neck in the split second you swallowed, shooting up quick enough to make you wonder whether you’d really caught him staring, or whether you were just in desperate need of _his_ attention and your subconscious decided to use this exact individuum to project your useless fantasies on, but you still tipped your head back and finished the entire thing in one go, brushing the back of your hand over your mouth in a less than lady-like manner afterwards, scrunching up your nose as you let your chin fall forward once more, returning the cup with a well-mannered but deeply venomous “thank you” obviously directed at no one in particular, ignoring him and his kind gesture openly. Almost cruelly.

Yes, even you wanted to punch yourself into the face, especially when you had to act like this towards a person that had perfected the puppy-dog-eyes and was able to look so polite but still somehow ( ~~justifiably~~ ) crushed at your harsh reaction.

You knew that jerk was probably reading your vitals stuck on his clearly evident display right now, trying to gather as much intel on you as possible. This knowledge somehow caused an ( ~~unjustified~~ ) illicit thrill to shoot down your spine, silently wondering what he thought about the way your heart was speeding up right now.

( _He probably only worried about you going into cardiac arrest and suggest a trip to the ER, or something even more embarrassing.)_

Because this guy was not your Connor, no matter how prone you were to forget this rather simple fact.

This Rk800 was just a very close replica, the most accurate one you ever met, actually, since none of them had ever been able to fool you with this lovable sparkle in their eyes, or the way a smile tugged at the left corner of their lips first, always slightly lopsided despite everything else about them being so calculated and symmetrical (except for that one strand of hair, of course).

“I’m sorry.”, he told you suddenly, unannouncedly, leaving you unsure whether he hadn’t just read your mind and spoken the words you had wanted to tell him the first time you met him, a couple pieces of candy suddenly weighing so heavily in the pocket of your pants.

Before you could ask whether he was apologizing for what you thought he was apologizing for ( _There was no way; He was not your Connor... right?_ ), the android had picked you up and unceremoniously threw you over his shoulder, cheerfully greeting the commissioner that halted next to them with a bewildered expression on his face, which still couldn’t match up to the look you were pulling right now, confronted with a piece of Rk800 ass right in front of your nose.

Well this was indeed not going as planned.


	22. Icelandic

You didn’t struggle as much as he had anticipated, allowing him to loosen his grip on your hips just the slightest bit, but keeping you thrown over his shoulder precautiously to hinder you from fleeing until the piercing unlocking-sound of a car made you perk up in interest and try to move up far enough to get a glimpse at the vehicle he was carrying you too.

Doing this, you almost tipped the android over, since he had calculated the tilt necessary to compensate the amount you set his balance off by, causing him to stumble and almost crash into one of the onlookers watching in bewilderment as he managed to open the door despite the previous setbacks and forced you inside unceremoniously, not a single person observing this process quite sure why they were witnessing a kidnapping carried out in broad daylight by the resident good-cop version of an android right in front of the detroitian police department, while the widely-known golden boy of the precinct greeted one of the other officers passing him with a friendly smile and small nod. The officer nodded back, so the people continued on their way without calling 911, shaking their heads at the absurdity of the strange scene that had just offered itself to them. But it was Monday. Strange things tended to happen on Mondays anyway.

Letting Hank’s keys (which the Rk800’d _borrowed_ , during the timespan in which the older male had been preoccupied with his angry monologue) slip back into his jacket, he dumped your lithe form into the back of the car, evading the swats you were throwing at him with ease, since you didn’t give it your all for a reason he wished he could identify as beneficial feelings towards him. The young male buckled you up, categorically ignoring how you backed away from his touch as far as you could while he did so, clearly being repulsed by his close vicinity, clearly being repulsed _by him_. Despite this, Connor listened to you complaining about how you weren’t a toddler that had to be tugged in to not accidentally kill itself, _thank you very much_ , with a straight face.

He felt like he was losing thirium at a rapid pace. He felt like he was bleeding. But he knew he wasn’t, and that had to be enough for now, silently observing his thirium pump and noticing how it was working in a slower pace than it should. Heavily. Haltingly.

Still chattering on – a habit of yours whenever you were nervous – you started to hurl insults at him, each profanity a rather creative, humorous quip than a consciously hurtful statement, the last one containing some words along the lines of “ _damned ken-doll_ ”. It made him smile to himself almost immediately, although his systems requested a switch into idle mode, after he had lost a surge of energy only seconds prior. Due to emotional reasons.

“That isn’t correct.”, he mused automatically, closing his fingers around the edge of the door one after another, relishing in the way your gaze followed this small movement, despising himself for needing this kind of attention so desperately, “You, especially you should be aware that my anatomical features replicate those of a human male’s down to every single extremity, shouldn’t you?” Connor tried his best to keep his features blank and hide away the smug expression that threatened to take over.

The android shut the door audibly and grinned to himself (he didn’t even notice), while getting into the front seat, taking the keys out once more and shoving them into the ignition without a second thought. He spared a quick glance into the rear mirror, and almost chuckled at the look on your face and the deep blush settling over your features if there hadn’t been something brooding right where his artificial lungs were seated.

He had been teasing. You didn’t seem to realize that.

But once again, you somehow managed to take a joyful situation and turn it into something more somber, using your words like sharp shards of metal, driving each of them into his chest just a tiny bit more forcefully, slowing his circulational functions even further, to already alarmingly dropping levels.

“Whatever you _think_ we did, whatever you _think_ we were to each other or whatever you _think_ you remember: It’s all fake anyway. So, don’t bother trying to befriend me.”

It was silent for a second, then you added a small: “Please.”

You sounded so weak right now, so tired. As if you had enough of something but kept getting pulled along with the current against your will. Maybe you were exhausted by having to distance yourself from him, maybe you felt the same not gravitational but electromagnetic pull that kept luring him in, too. Connor was aware he should’ve done a lot of things, for example ask himself why he was acting this way, completely against his protocols, undergoing every single mechanic of his being he had been programmed with. The android should be wondering why his diagnostical program didn’t find any faults despite his units going haywire right now, he should stop avoiding the question and interrogate you till you gave up the truth eventually, even if it meant hurting you in the process. But he couldn’t.

It was hardly adequate behavior for an android, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he caught a glimpse of you once more, looking down at your own hands with something akin to disgust, turning the ring once more und clutching your wrist as if you wanted to rip it off.

Of course, and inappropriately, his hardon only grew more persistent every time you laid your neck bare while throwing your head back in frustration, while his abdomen knotted whenever your hands burrowed themselves into your hair, wishing they were his. If he’d thought that it only was somatic, he would’ve tried to find the virus that caused these emotions within him and delete it. But since he knew it was something different, he just couldn’t bear the thought of parting with it. Irrational.

**/System destabilized./**

Even though you tried to snuff it out so persistently.

And that was when he finally realized it. Quietly, without reacting much at all.

He would be alright even with you using him, alright with being unable to escape these memories and the feelings resulting from them even if they had been fabricated. A horrible thought, really. He wondered where it had come from. He wondered why he couldn’t get rid of it, the words stuck to his interface illustrated in comic sans.

“Why would any information on my memory disc involve you?”, Connor asked numbly, “How do you know me?”

His hand was still clutched around the key in the ignition, almost turning it fully but millimeters from doing so, registering the sounds of passing traffic and humans, idle conversations contrasting so starkly to whatever was going on between you now. You hadn’t talked much, but this weighed so much heavier than any of the words exchanged beyond the metal of Hank’s car.

You must’ve been aware of the fact that he had you were he wanted you, backed into a corner with no escape, suffocated in the narrow space of a stuffy car. His interrogation module had added the emotional pressure deliberately. He had to. He had to. He hated himself, but he had to. Then your fingers twitched towards the door handle and a taunting noise resounded in the interior, making both of you startle for a second, then both of your shoulders drop. The relive you had needed, in form of a simple sound.

Connor had activated the childlock.

It made you snort.

Then he started the engine which sprang to live with only the slightest stutter, from then on continuously running in a deep, silky purr.

 


	23. Hindi

“I was hoping you’d be willing to cooperate with the interrogation in a more comfortable setting, but this was hardly the calculated –“

“I don’t care.” you murmured, effectively cutting the unnecessarily polite android off with a decisive tone to your voice, face pressed into a content Sumo wagging not only his tail but his entire body (thus almost falling over, because he was shaking his massive torso too hard by now), panting contently at the way your hands were brushing along his fur, scratching behind his ears and petting his stomach, while urging you on with small licks directed at you, but never really reaching your skin, tongue lapping up at the air instead with a hind leg twitching in the urge to get rid of that itch that settled itself on his entire body the longer you kept cuddling with him. And honestly, you didn’t intend to stop anytime soon. The Saint Bernard was so endearingly stupid that your palms wouldn’t stop with their ministrations even if you’d die on the spot.

His entire hair was in a mess by now, strands overlapping and drool pooling at the sides of his mouth, probably ruining your sweater with glistening, irritably white marks as soon as it dried. But whenever you had tried to pull your hand away, he stopped you by grabbing for your wrist with his teeth carefully, sure to not breach your skin or hurt you in any way, placing it back on his side in a silent but still intelligible demand. Also, he seemed to be trying to return the favor by continuously aiming his tongue towards you, too preoccupied with his own pleasure to really go through with the process of licking you though, causing you to smile despite yourself. Truthfully. Dogs must’ve been some sort of magical token of peace sent by heavens in your opinion. That thing literally had soothing properties.

Connor noticed that fact, and could base it on scientific evidence too, since your stress levels were considerably dropping the deeper you buried your hands in the soft planes of fur, although he couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable electric currents that ran through his systems at that view and stimulated his sensors with a certain kind of emotion he was sure to never feel during the time of his existence, especially not towards a canine.

The Rk800 was actually _envious_ of Sumo.

He even simulated the way your hands would feel brushing along his own skin based on the information he could gather from his memories (although he was quite sure the resulting replica wasn’t entirely correct concerning some of the most basic details), slowly but surely getting lost in his own mind with differing scenarios playing out in front of his interface, burdening his reconstruction unit with unneeded computing processes. Somehow the way you twisted the strands of fur between your finger, reminded him of the fact that you liked to yank at his hair sometimes, more or less playfully depending on the situation you were in, always rather vocal and determined to your needs. And in this exact moment is treacherous acoustic sensors provided him with the unneeded recording of you keening.

_“Connor.”_

The android’s penis twitched in shameful interest.

A muffled but audible “howi wuwiwg wit wews wo wuwwy” translating into “Holy fucking shit he’s so fluffy.” made Connor give up his repeated attempts at getting you to talk to him, simultaneously ripping him out of his thoughts quite effectively. You seemed to try to punish him for the car ride, especially after he had threatened to carry you again should you not comply with his requests or try to run away as soon as the engine had died down and the doors opened. There wasn’t a lack of options for you to escape, but you didn’t even seem to consider a single one of them, kept in place by petting a dog of all things.

A _dog._

He was pretty sure that his programmed scale of justice (theoretically reserved to situations concerning his work to aid him during investigations) was tipped off by that. Now you even started to muse sweet nothings in a slightly higher pitch of voice to Sumo, who only freaked out more at that, full blown throwing himself onto your lap further, blocking the entire hallway leading towards the living room by stretching out his limbs and surrendering himself to your wandering palms.

Despite the unfair treatment, Connor liked the way you looked right now. The smile on you lips let you appear healthier, less exhausted, and the Saint Bernard sprawled out in your lap only added to the domestic atmosphere this imagery was spreading in the far too big house owned by the Lieutenant. His stress levels started to drop, too. Tense shoulders relaxing and computing processes halting slowly.

But then, Connor heard something out of your mouth that made all of his system warnings blare up in unison and ripped down the last barrier separating him from his memories that came crashing down on him like a forced shutdown.

_“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?_

*

Meanwhile, Hank was dialing his partner for the umpteenth time, clearly annoyed judging by the way he was cursing under his breath and winkled his forehead, with a simple question on the tip of his tongue he practically yelled into the receiver, before actively having to keep himself from simply throwing his cellphone onto the pavement beneath moving car tires.

“How the _fuck_ am I supposed to come home now, you giant, plastic, scrawny dick-nugget.”


	24. Bengali

_Up to this point, everything had been working out almost too smoothly, never once allowing the slightest suspicion to arise inside of your usually so cautious mind, although you should’ve known better, especially considering everything you’d been through the past few months. Obviously, they weren’t going to leave you alone after the eagerly confirmed to be “last” assignment well done, finished cleanly without leaving a single trace towards the perpetrators - a single trace towards yourself, since you were easily one of the best in this line of work. Yes, these jerks were never going to let you go, because now they had a couple of positive results depicting just what exactly you were capable of, multiplying your worth per job by a threefold. You had stupidly turned yourself indispensable to their cause, and now you were paying the price for it._

_But the only thing they hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t cared to learn about, was that you were an obstinate little bitch, able to kill an army-android with your teeth if forced to._

The first guard accompanying you was completely neutralized after your elbow had collided with his handsome face and dented the cute little nose adorning it in brutally. It was his own fault, really. Just another young newbie, foolish enough to escort you to the site with a muzzle pressed to your temple and whispered but baseless threats on the tip of his tongue, blissfully oblivious to the fact that the safety catch still disabled the trigger like the daft idiot he was. His partner couldn’t step in quick enough either, swept off his feet by you hooking your ankle around his and giving it a sharp tug, harshly kicking him into the throat as soon as he hit the ground, causing him to splutter and writhe in pain, while simultaneously avoiding the kill even yourself had expected to follow suit. It would have been the most logical line of action to keep them from tattling prematurely after all.

But you had always been kind of stupid, hadn’t you?

“Just disable the heap of plastic, what’s so difficult about that?”, some cold-hearted arsehole in the upper half of the hierarchy chain had demanded yesterday, now echoing in your mind, intentionally leaving out the fact that disabling was a synonym for _killing_ in his sick understanding of the world, since he’d decided that a CyberLife-Developer gone rogue would definitely not care about the things she programmed through sleepless nights and tiring days.

Shitty missions were bearable for the fitting amount of payment, but shitty missions including snuffing out a life you had observed being created in the first place?

They even wanted you to _kill_ the one you’d helped build yourself.

Fuck that shit.

You picked up the gun dropped from a clenched fist (you had to kick him again in order to get his death grip loosened), releasing the security catch and darting into the woods on your left, snow annoyingly giving away your position by loudly scrunching beneath your weight. Water was trickling down your neck, and you weren’t entirely sure if it was molten ice or just your sweat, a few strands of hair already clinging to your moist temples. You were clearly overexerting yourself, since the last few days had taken a heavy toll on your body, wounds still not fully healed and thighs rubbing together painfully in the less than comfortable clothing they’d made you wear. But something in the back of your mind urged you on intransigently, pushing your endurance to its fragile limits and you mind to the breaking-point.

You would’ve liked for it to have been some noble reason, like “justice”, or even something as insignificant as your own will to live. But in all honesty, it was only your stubbornness, making you mutter an eloquent string of curses under your gasped breaths and keeping you moving, despite the protests of your muscles clenching painfully underneath your taut skin.

“I’m not gonna die here with my ass full of the most hideous underwear I’ve ever worn in my life, only for some weird tech patrol guy to find me all melted and gross after the winter and wank off to my corpse. Fucking flesh and it’s decaying properties. Fucking androids and their fucking _faces_ that look like they feel shit. Feel this!”

You bared your middle finger and continued to flip off no one in particular.

There were four more of these idiots around, you could tell for sure since you had counted them earlier. Two skilled soldiers, one know-it-all (also known as team-captain) and one ruthless killer that almost had a skillset similarly advanced to yours. But only almost. Despite your unfortunate situation caused by your ridiculous inability to keep your mouth shut, none of them noticed you in-between the thick tree trunks, giving you the perfect amount of time to take your aim and make sure to not miss, getting on one knee while tilting your head just the tiniest bit to the right, closing your left eye simultaneously and steadying your hand that was shaking because of the rapidly dropping temperatures.

Maybe this would’ve been the perfect moment for partaking in a moral dilemma, but you had grown accustomed to taking lives already. This was nothing new to you. Killing had been and always would be a necessity to survive, you had learned that the hard way. But you also knew that causing a death for the wrong reasons would lead to your own demise eventually.

It was all fine though, because this time, you had all the right reasons to let them die.

Your focus was flawless, as you observed them carelessly give away their positions to investigate the screams of their colleagues, trudging through the soft but unyielding material beneath their feet, making it crunch audibly.  Your index finger closed around the trigger and you pulled without as much as blinking, breathing out as soon as the recoil hat hit you.

The shot embedded itself into the shoulder of one of the guards, only disabling him slightly and eliciting a loud yelp from the man dropping to the ground like the wimp he was. (You felt a bullet still seated in your leg throb as if to greet you.)

You should’ve killed him, especially after having that lengthy internal monologue about how cold-hearted you were, damn it. Why, just why did you aim badly again, this time for the hand carrying a weapon, instead of the head leading it towards you? Had you gotten a concussion without noticing it?

You got a short view of the android, bound by these handcuffs that shot about 70 mA volts through his body if he didn’t comply, forcing even the strongest minded androids and humans into submission rather quickly. Or making them pass out after a few seconds, since their musculature constricted badly enough for them to simply cease breathing.

And of course you pitied him, although he’d been rather stupid too, getting lured here with the pretense of some CyberLife-internal murder case that shouldn’t reach the knowledge of public, obviously prompting him to come by himself, even leaving the Lieutenant behind you’d heard so much good about. Stupid, golden hearted Connor. He could’ve saved both of you a bunch of trouble if he’d decided to just sleep idle-mode in today.

They were coming closer. They didn’t see you yet, unsure exactly where to direct their guns, faces depicting deep concentration and careful affixation. Just a few steps left, and…

**Now!**

Darting forward, your reached one of the guys detaining the android and yanked him backwards, kicking the other into the shin forcefully enough to make a satisfying crack resound, while hitting the first one between the shoulderblades and causing him to cough.

“Oh, whoops. Sorry.”

You were aiming to knock the captain out completely with another roundhouse, pulling one of the soldiers along by the collar like a disobedient pet, as he reached a hand through your legs and looked for the pressure point to dissipate the tension in your joints. That’s what caused you to step forward, instinctively twisting your thighs around his neck, another crack resounding, this time much less satisfying as the body slumped to the ground immediately, head facing into the wrong direction and arms mostly drenched of their tension now.

You winced for only a split second. That’s all it took. Less than a second, breaking off the fluency because of something as useless as _guilt_. You were pulled backwards by a harsh grip knotting into your locks, toppling over as somebody dealt a forceful punch to your chest, legs intertwining and knees giving out.

Then, you hit something.

And then, you couldn’t breathe.


	25. Persian

You had fallen unluckily, stumbling over your own two feet and plunging into the water, hidden behind the small mound you’d been standing on and only a few degrees from freezing over entirely, ice cold embracing you, pulling you deeper against your volition and despite your frantic movements. For some idiotic reason you tried to breathe, nearly choking when that biting substance entered your mouth, hastily closing your lips while reflexively clutching your throat, trying to pull yourself to the surface with a single hand now. Your bodily tension was quickly dissipating, muscles refusing to work under the pressure of such temperatures, heart beating out of your chest that kept constricting with the need to breath and desire for warmth. Nobody could hear you cry out, although you did. At least you thought you did. Maybe you didn’t, you couldn’t be entirely sure about that, since you were kind of busy with having an unnecessary panic attack and, well, drowning.

That’s why it was a matter of luck that Connor registered a faint sound. And yes, you were indeed incredibly lucky when something inside of him snapped because of it.

Despite a small, additional electrical current of 10 mA running through his circuits caused by the handcuffs, he opted for a calculated kick, ignoring his blaring system warnings and only concentrating on the imminent confrontation, hitting soldier no. 2 forcefully enough to send him flying into soldier no.1 making both collide with the ground in a tumble of limbs and curses and little specs of snow whirling up. He would’ve reached out to them and simply made them pass out by touching them, if plastic would’ve had any conductive properties and if the cuffs weren’t directly linked to his cables. So instead, he settled for straddling one of them with his thighs pressing his legs down, reaching for the little remote that controlled the shocks being administered, added to the belt also containing a weapon holster.  

But before he could get it, the Rk800 was body-checked off the human, back of the head hitting a tree brutally and lenses losing focus for a second, blindly reaching out, only to get a hold of an ankle and yank it down towards him. A headbutt was enough to send the other into unconsciousness, while suddenly, hot, blinding heat shot through his insides, causing his artificial muscles to have convulsions and system inform him about the shutdown that was going to be implemented if he didn’t get rid of the confounder immediately.

100 mA. Enough to kill a human instantly.

100 mA. Not enough to stop him from registering the sound of rippling water hitting the ledges of a lake, informing the android about your ongoing fight and the fact that you were still hanging on, although you should’ve been dead or at least have fallen into slumber by now. His mission updated clearly, repressing the multiple error messages that had plastered his inner eye and letting him regain control over his units.

**Save her.**

Connor always completed his missions.

Only relying on his environmental sensors, since his visual ones were refusing to work, he fixated himself on the source of heat moving around him, a human body betraying its own whereabouts not only through sound and the little gasps that escaped the fatigued male still lying on the ground, evidently trying to crawl away and get the weapon that seemed to be stuck into his hands. Shaking uncontrollably, the Rk800 got up and launched himself towards the other male, getting ahold of the remote clutched by his fingers, breaking them in the process of acquiring it, too deep into fight mode to really care about the agonized sounds that followed after that. He crushed the machine in his palm, a relieved cackle escaping his vocal synthesizer as the electricity halted, giving his eyes time to regenerate and himself time to knock the soldier out.

Then, there was a disturbance around you, water being repressed in a close vicinity and the soft sound of something propelling towards you reaching your ears. You didn’t open your eyes in fear of freezing them somehow. You didn’t move, because you were too tired by now.

You only wanted to sleep.

But before you could, for some reason that was only apparent to a higher force that had a very questionable sense of humor, a pair of lips was pressed to yours, forcing your mouth open, licking its insides while concurrently breathing out. Hands settled beneath your hips, pushing you upwards, while air was being pushed down your lungs. You registered all of these occurrences rather detachedly. Or, well, some part of your muddled mind understood that it was happening, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care about it, because this new feeling engulfing you now was so preciously warm in contrast to your ice-cold skin that you pressed yourself into the heat, thus against a frigid body slightly quivering at that, tilting your head to gain better access and lazily swiping your tongue over another one that suspiciously lacked taste. But you didn’t care. It was so warm. And so nice. You couldn’t get enough of it; the lack of oxygen had long halted every single one of your rational thought processes quite effectively.

You didn’t even realize how you were continuously pulled upwards, breaching the surface and soon forced to part from the deliciousness filling out your taste buds, licking over your lips unintentionally before you managed to open your mouth and _breathe_ again, air rushing into your lungs and dissipating the light headedness that had just almost made you fall into unconsciousness.

Made you make out with a fucking Rk800.

Connor blinked towards you from the sidelines in something that resembled confusion, but was probably just his computing program checking your vitals, as you were pushed out of the lake and onto land, collapsing without being able to make a single step, since your knees gave out beneath you. He was pretty messed up too, a part of his cheekbones missing, thirium painting his uniform blue and hair smoothed against his forehead in a lovable manner.

“Oh, fucking hell.”, you spluttered laying on your back, only to heave yourself up with your lower arms, turn around and cough bits of water out combined with the innards of your stomach, flinching at the grossness of it all and trying to get as far from it as possible by angling your legs around the ground and just shoving your body along. “Stop looking so concerned.”, you tried to snap, but only a choked wheeze came out of your throat. This was the moment you realized you might’ve died pathetically like this, dragged underneath a bit of lake that probably was pretty shallow anyway. Your body gave out at that piece of knowledge, muscles simply refusing to constrict themselves and halting your motions, letting you just lay there like a doll.

You noticed that you were picked up, but you didn’t comprehend it anymore, silently wondering how he had finished off the fifth guy and gotten rid of the handcuffs in such a short time. Then you noticed how the cuffs were still attached to his sensors, since he had picked you up bridal style and the metal was rubbing against your lower thighs. You pulled his neck down towards you, seemingly angling upwards for another kiss and effectively startling the man equipped with the fastest fucking processing unit on this planet, because he was an idiot like that.

“O-one… more...”, you whispered weakly, hoping that he’d fucking get the gist and let you down to die in piece, while saving his own ass from one of the most lethal assasins you’d ever met.

But he never put you down.

Not even when you drifted to sleep.


	26. Irish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end. I'm gonna miss this.

Your eyes fluttered open while you shot up, darkly underlined irises immediately locking onto the person seated next to you that now cautiously removed his hand pressed to your forehead seconds prior, obviously checking your body heat in a surprisingly intimate gesture. You were tipsy, still able to recognize your apartment and the silhouette of the android that had caused you all of this trouble in the first place, reaching out to swat him away, although he had long since pulled his arm from your side. You missed Connor by a yard anyway. He’d been patiently waiting for who knows how long, probably watching you in your sleep and keeping track on your vitals. And that was somehow embarrassing enough to make you blush in a deep red.

“What the fu-“

Your words were cut off as you were hit with a violent wave of pain turning every coherent thought impossible, clutching your temples afraid they would burst if you let go for a second during this surge of headache, pitifully wincing at the agony, not realizing how much you were startling the android that hadn’t got any experience in dealing with someone _physically_ hurting over a longer period of time. But that wouldn’t keep him from trying.

“My systems suggest that you’d not to move around too much, since you have a concussion, several wounds, bruises and a few contused ribs. It wouldn’t be advisable to overexert yourself in this state.”, he mused factually, softly taking your raised wrist and placing it back onto your stomach, careful not to aggravate or hurt you in any way. He’d evidently pulled a chair from the kitchen all the way to your bed. Since you didn’t really have any guests, ever, your living room was pretty much your bedroom too, and you felt strangely violated in your privacy, although the lack of furniture and decoration didn’t really make for any embarrassing objects left to lie around and seen by him.

Well, except for the incredibly unattractive and _used_ sports-bra hanging on one of the door handles, after you’d hastily gotten ready for the mission two days prior and just shed your previous clothing all over the apartment. If the migraine hadn’t made you want to die, that piece of underwear definitely would have. In shame.

You couldn’t concentrate, not even listen to him, thus not understand a single thing he told you, pain only slightly eased by the soft tone of his voice that wrapped itself around your aching nerves and seemed to soothe them. Despite you obviously not paying attention, the Rk800 continued dutifully:

“I tried to notify an ambulance, but you threatened to kill yourself and then me, suggesting I’d call…”, he took an unnecessary moment heightening his vocal synthesizer to mimic your voice in a very unsettling resemblance that was only diminished by you registering your voice differently than it actually sounded when talking yourself, “ _Ragnarök on our asses right now and make them finish the job even quicker_.”

Then he added (thankfully in his own tone again): “But I could not comprehend the correlation of Nordic mythology with our situation. Would you mind explaining it?”

For some reason, you had the urge to get up and kick your annoying nurse to the shin, but as you threw your blanket off despite his initial protests, your gaze got caught by the bandage delicately wrapped around your half naked leg, blinking at it in confusion. Then your eyes widened, as you started feeling your inner thigh for the bump you had almost grown used to by now, pressing against the skin quite rashly, disbelievingly. Your fingertips definitely brushed over the right place. You were sure it should’ve been there, but it was missing. The bullet imbedded into your skin, hindering every single one of your movements. He’d even taken it out while you were too scared to even attempt this.

“It wasn’t anywhere near your vitals or nerves. I thought you might want it… removed.”, he offered as explanation, having followed your gaze and now obviously unsure whether he did the right thing. You desperately hoped Connor was too preoccupied with whatever androids did 90 percent of the time to notice the spike in your heartrate and the way your breath halted for a few beats.

Holy fucking hell, you’d better not fall for him already.

“Get out.”, you whispered, voice coarse and broken.

He followed your demand, getting up with an elegance and fluency that amazed you every time you got to witness it, leaving the room… only to return a minute later, passing you a glass filled to the brim with cool water, only now raising your awareness concerning the fact that you were dying of thirst. As you gulped it down quickly, he smiled pleasantly and voiced a definite “No.”.

You the mouth with the back of your hand, stretching to place the glass on the ground beside you, only to be halted by Connors lean fingers wrapping around it and pulling it from your grip, making you blush even more deeply at the slight contact of skin. There was no way he didn’t notice it now. You grew defensive and snapped at him.

“This is my home, you’re invading it against my will. Get out!”

But he, of course, wasn’t having any of it, ever the calm, collected and rational android: “You are free to inform the authorities and have me reprimanded if I unsettle you that much.”

Did he just sound smug? Oh my god, that plastic dickhead totally sounded smug. And god damnit, you were already crushing hard enough for your lips to tug up at his remark, staring at him cautiously, but for some reason not in the slightest distrust. He hadn’t been activated a single second back when you still had been allowed to work on him, and now that he was you only caught yourself liking him more and more with every exchanged sentence and small grin.

“Please get out?”, you tried again, knowing it would be to no avail.

“No.”, Connor chimed.

Well, you weren’t going to reach an agreement anytime soon, so you just sighed in defeat, since your head was still recalling every single dubstep song you’d ever heard and replaying a bass boosted version of it simultaneously, practically shaking your skull in the process. That’s why you didn’t realize the Rk800 had probably seen you naked either, since your wet and bloodied uniform had been exchanged for comfortable briefs and a simple top, way too revealing for your taste. You were blissfully unaware of your entire cleavage being on display, not realizing how the faint draft inside of your home caused by a window Connor had opened to supply you with fresh air made the small hairs on your arms raise slightly.

“Well, you patched me up, so I guess I’ll have to return the favor. Could you fetch me that box over there please, and shut up for the next 20 minutes?”

*

He obviously didn’t shut up.


	27. Hebrew

After that, the only time the Rk800 moved his unnaturally still body was to stroke an annoying strand of hair out of your face that kept pestering you, as you were working on him with a hunched back and the aftermath of your rather deep slumber pulling at your consciousness, trying your hardest to stay awake and clean the wounds he’d been afflicted with to pay him back for the bandages he’d applied on you (The damned android even had the nerve to inform you about how unhealthy your current position was, suggesting you’d sit up straight and lessen the strain on your spine; but screw him and his newly downloaded medical data pack). You wished you could have ignored the feeling that settled in your chest at his words, just like the fact that you were developing a crush on the most unfortunate decision of your life in mere hours after meeting him personally (and only being responsive for a fraction of that time). But instead of getting yourself together, you focused on the small Thirium leak above his artificial hip, begging your adrenal glands producing all these hormones disrupting your rational thought processes to just _stop_ for a minute till you were done, because helping him had priority over fawning over him. At least theoretically.

Connor tried to coax you into eating or drinking something, in order to “ _replenish your exhausted energy storage_ ”, cautioning you on how you’d “ _merely_ ” been out for about 11 hours, which was – in his eyes – unusually short, and in yours, half a lifetime. You decided to withhold the information that you usually ran on about 4 hours of sleep or less, since he’d probably have knocked you out clean at that or drugged the (ridiculously tasty) tea he’d brought you earlier with narcotics. Instead, you nodded off his initial worries with a noncommittal “I feel alright, quit worrying!” and a slight pat on the back that seemed to leave both of you a bit uncomfortable with its awkwardness.

“How did you know this was my hide-out anyway.”, you asked him while reangling an especially stubborn bit of cable with an alarming lack of suspicion to your tone, because you were an idiot and the guy, that took a couple of highly trained soldiers out with his hands locked behind his back, pretty much disarming. Meanwhile, you didn’t see how his gaze became affixed to the way your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Instead of falling into postprandial somnolence or even unconsciousness, you launched into a deep REM-phase, continuously muttering instructions to me. I will accept the repercussions you might apply for informing you about the security hazards this kind of behavior could cause to your person, so please be more cautious with your personal information in the future.”

You had been half dead and he decided to lecture you about stranger danger. _Really?_

After his lengthy request, the Rk800 seemed to ponder on whether to continue his sentence for a solid second, but then he shrugged and added the “Among other things…” while deliberately leaning a bit closer to you, to provide you with better access to the gaping hole that was still sparking sometimes, unintentionally raising your stress-level by his close proximity. Ok, now you were alarmed. Trying to keep your hands from shaking although you were already suspecting the worst, and finally locking the circuit back into its intended place, you aimed to keep your voice as nonchalant as possible while asking: “What other things?”

You sounded like a _drowning_ hyena.

 _(Bad metaphor. Bad metaphor. Bad metaphor_.)

Making the mistake of looking up and getting caught by something shining in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you noticed his expression shifting into a emotion that was not something a simple machine could’ve produced out of a line of coding, since the corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly, as the creases just above his eyebrows got that tiny bit deeper. You had to fight the urge to press one of your fingertips into the small dimple of his cheek. Of course, that jerk borrowed your voice again, making you refuse every single one of his tries to maintain eye-contact after that.

_“I mean, why the hell did I help to make you look so devastatingly handsome? Am I stupid or what?!”_

*

You didn’t talk much afterwards. He didn’t either. There was a lot of important information to be exchanged and questions to be settled, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to initiate a conversation, while he kept stoically quiet, maybe to keep himself from disturbing your work. He’d probably figured out what you had been doing for a living anyway, so telling him anything wouldn’t help either of you.

You sighed.

Then you whispered something along the lines of “I’m sorry, I can’t make _that_ disappear.”, voice still weak as you turned his fixed but now scared wrist towards him, the spot where the cuffs had reached underneath his plastic shell still evident through ugly, metallic gashes. Getting this far had been quite a task already, since you had been forced to follow each cable individually to get them back into place, leaving a mark behind that resembled a circuit, clearly burnt into the layer hiding beneath his skin. In an attempt at comforting him somehow, you had changed it to look like a core unit, adding just a single line connecting the other ones and hoping he’d forgive you for the additional scaring.

He looked at it for a long time, maybe fascinated, maybe shocked, maybe in distaste, before resting his gaze on you and letting it linger there for an even longer time. (You desperately tried to convince yourself it was getting hot in your apartment, because your heater had exploded, or the sun decided to just cuddle up to earth randomly.)

“Could I require a favor?”, he asked, voice silky, doing things to you it shouldn’t have, husky tones brushing you nerves in the worst way.

“Only if you leave afterwards.”

He closed his mouth, unmoving. Like a stubborn child waiting for the candy it had been promised. You relented quite quickly:

“Ugh, fine, what?

And you didn’t miss the repeated tug at the sides of his mouth during his answer.

“Would you be so kind to add three dots there, there and here?”

In order to show you what he meant, he stressed the words while pressing his index finger to the differing but rather close positions, circling one of them clearly recreating a pattern, angling it towards you as if you were lifelong acquaintances that had long since earned each other’s trust.

What a weird request.

You shrugged and were about to mouth a “sure” until you noticed the form and halted for a second, mind whirling into action. The thought was stupid, ludicrous, idiotic, _dumb_. But to you, it seemed like he’d asked for an engraving of the brighter flecks of skin adorning your own wrist after an especially nasty assignment leaving behind almost invisible burn marks, right in the middle of what could be considered to depict his heart.

Then you complied, wordlessly.


	28. Russian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm yeah so the next chapter will contain smut if the people on tumblr decide that way. So, get ready, I guess?

The next day, while he was making you porridge, still refusing to let you get up and perfectly impersonating the voice of a nagging old lady just to get a laugh out of you, you told him about the burn marks on your wrists. Told him, how they had been caused by smoldering cigarette butts pressed into your skin, to teach you how to keep your pain to yourself. How to keep your emotions to yourself. How to act like an android that hadn’t deviated yet; like an obedient machine that would carry out every single one of their demands without questioning them or their morals. It was the same pattern that was now adorning him too, in a horrible kind of beauty that seemed to have a magnetic pull on your gaze (just like his eyes, or his thighs, or his hands, or his…). But Connor didn’t react much to your explanation. Somehow, you were thankful for that because you felt it was embarrassing, and because you hadn’t seen him break your favorite metal pot by practically bending it in half after hearing your hushed, almost shy words.

That strange android had even done your laundry sometime during your irregular sleeping patterns, and you tried your best to endure his close proximity whenever he leaned close to check your temperature and factually informed you about your evident fever. This task grew harder when you found your hated sports-bra neatly tucked into your underwear drawer later, flushing bright red at the thought of him handling your lingerie.

(Guess what. It wasn’t a fever.)

It seemed like you had found something in that half-frozen lake that somehow tied you to each other. Secrets you had kept for a lifetime kept spilling over your lips, although you didn’t allow them to. And you understood the other.

Neither of you could find a phrase befitting what you were feeling (although Connor searched his entire network for a usable result), so you settled on leaving it nondescript. Without a name. Wordless.

You tried to tell yourself that you were just starved for human contact, as he tried to convince himself he cared about you because of the sense of duty that had been programmed into him. He conveniently chose to ignore the surge of desire he’d felt when you twisted in your sleep, while laying your belly button bare to his watchful eye, and you tried to negate the fact that you hadn’t slept this well in ages.

And that’s how days passed in a rather small but nonetheless comfortable apartment. Contacting the Lieutenant would have lethal consequences for both of you, so Connor chose to lay low for a while, only leaving for something he called “work” whenever venturing outside couldn’t be avoided. For example in the pursue of victuals and clean, inconspicuous clothing that fitted him. Or looking for the whereabouts of an assassin. After all, neither of you had forgotten about the person that was still on the hunt for you. After all, neither of you was stupid.

But the last time he greeted you, as you were still drowsy with sleep, he knew he probably would never get to feel you again in the 65 percent probable case something would go wrong. Connor would’ve liked to, but he couldn’t stay by your side forever. And he wanted to beat you to it since he was smart enough to notice the little bag you’d stocked with weapons and enough material to take down the entire DPD. So he pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles, instead of tasting you on the tip of his tongue just one more time, since he’d thoroughly exhausted you the previous night anyway.

Strange, wasn’t it? His rationality kept blurring because of you, just you.

He left.

And he hoped you’d never forgive him for that.

*

Connor recalled it in vivid detail.

There was a voice whispering to him. Cruelly. Faintly. It made him want to hurt its owner until neither could recover anymore. Despite his coding. Despite him being taught and built to be good.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’ll forget all of this, won’t you? Look at you, all restrained and angry. We’ll just hook you up with a pretty little virus that destroys you itself, how does that sound? And we’ll make you fuck up everything around you via remote control until you die! Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Yes! That expression is great. Lemme take a photo real quick.“

In hindsight, it hadn’t been the smartest move to provide him with this piece of information. Especially since a data backup was almost guaranteed, even in the direst of predicaments. But at that moment these words had terrified him, as you were pulled back by disguised guards, screaming your throat out desperately and reaching for him in a panic.

He saw the tranquilizer buried into your neck as you were begging them to let him go, offering your life in exchange for his.

“He never did any harm.”, you cried out. "Let him go!”

But he’d harmed you, hadn’t he?

He should’ve known you’d try to follow him, shouldn’t he? Should’ve noticed these candies you kept giving him could contain traceable substances, or nanobots, or transmitters, or whatever, unnoticeable to his porous tongue.

“Hey, look at that. How cute. Matching scars!”

They made you watch as they ripped his arm off.

They made you watch as they ripped his arm off, while his pain receptors were active.

He tried to keep himself from deepening that expression on your face he hated so much, as he could only concentrate on the feeling of his cables snapping and circuits giving in. Connor was fighting to keep the agony out of his features for your sake rather than his. His Thirium pump stuttered out of rhythm. Several system warnings blared up. His body was frantic to stop the blood from rushing out by constricting different passageways, brutally shaking his artificial body to its very core.

He screamed too, his pain mingling with yours.

“Please take me, please just take me!”

He loved you so, so much.

The narcotics overwhelmed you, as his lenses closed, and his interface faded to black.

*

Hank had been angry with the Rk800 upon finding his body, yelling for the entirety of the drive back home that took two hours, fifty-three minutes and twelve seconds, suspecting his partner of throwing out his self-perseverance module or frying the component responsible for common sense.  Of course, the human wanted to know where he’d been the past weeks, disappearing on a dubious case and never returning despite the entire precinct trying to track him, but Connor couldn’t answer any of those questions. He couldn’t even recall anything himself. Not a single memory of the weeks in which he knew you, in which he fell in love was available to his database. A good portion of his personality had gone missing too, carefully sealed away due to emotional trauma, because the part of his complicated consciousness that had been alive refused to feel as strongly. It refused to let him feel at all.

He didn’t even actively notice your scent when he met you after you’d been retained as a homicide suspect. You were watching as he repeatedly passed your cell, but he didn’t even bother to look up. The armored glass kept you from touching him like you desperately wanted to, and you had enough rational thought left to retain yourself from calling out to him. Only when he grew hard did he realize something wasn’t right, fleeing into the bathroom to investigate uninterruptedly, leaving you behind with a sense of dread settling in your stomach. And his body reacted unconsciously once again, in the most shameful way he knew, reminding him that nothing about any of this had been noble.

He’d forgotten you. He wasn’t the same. He was better off without you.

That’s what you had told yourself, right? That’s what you had believed to be true, right?

He wasn’t worthy.

As you halted while petting Sumo, a tear slipped from his eye, closely followed by many more until he was crying, body shook by a tremor that made his insides constrict.

“I’m sorry.”, he whispered.

“I’m so, so sorry.”


	29. Irish

You seemed frozen in place as Connor brushed one of his sleeves over his eyes harshly, embarrassed for using the tears that were only added to him in pursue of forcedly stirring empathy in humans and deviants alike, no matter if in interrogation or hostage situations. They weren't meant for personal use. They weren't supposed to aid him in the pursuit of unraveling his complicated emotional settings, especially considering that they only contained distilled water anyway, tainting the emotion lingering behind them as counterfeit too, since the production cost of a vial containing the liquid necessary for androids to cry had been minimized considerably.

Nothing about him was real. Not even his pain. That's why a deeply ashamed blush settled on his features without him actively urging his pump to redirect his blood flow to the cables residing in his artificial cheekbones. Meanwhile, you still seemed to be completely star-struck, staring at him with a blank expression. As if Sumo was sensing what was about to happen, he got out of the way, contently trotting to Hanks bedroom, nudging the door open with his nose and probably making himself comfortable on the bed, although he officially wasn’t permitted to do so. (Hank was a weak man.)

Somehow, you managed to get your own muscles to obey again, positioning yourself in front of him and reaching out in a trance. He bowed to your touch, moving closer instinctively. But before your fingertips could connect with his skin, you flinched back, pulling your hands back against your chest and averting your eyes, shoulders shaking violently.

Connor felt as if your next words were a slap across his face.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I already told you those memories were fake.”

You made him do it again: Act on an impulse he wasn’t even aware of in the first place, wrap his arms around you and hug you as if clinging to a lifeline desperately, eyebrows scrunched up, hands buried into the material of your sweater and nose pressed snugly to the crook of your neck. As if that would reveal your words as lies by itself. He took a deep breath and was greeted by an onslaught of the scent he’d grown familiar with, while it coated his insides and made an interference signal resound in his database, drowning out any other message popping up in his interface. But the Rk800 couldn’t bring himself to care. You were in his arms again, and the nameless urge boiling in his processing unit settled finally, dissipating like it hadn’t even existed. He brushed his arms along the length of your spine, pushing the fabric of your clothing up with his movements and causing it to pool around your shoulders, baring your stomach to his restless fingertips. You shuddered as one of his hands dipped down to glide over your abdomen, lazily circling your belly button as the synthetic skin faded away and exposed a smoother surface that made you arch into the touch and take in a sharp breath.

Concurrently, you weren’t feigning any better than him, melting into his scorching touch, pressing your bodies flush together and succumbing to the maddening heat. He was warm. He was solid. Because as your vitals broke into chaos and your protests died down in your throat, he couldn’t help but feel you needed him as much as he needed you.

“Are they really forged?”, he asked, wordlessly begging you to deny it.

You halted. And then you closed your eyes.

“Yes, all of them.”

Your statement was cold, sealing off any emotion that could have poured into the words without your permission. But you also sounded choked, wounded. As if the words stole your air and drained your almost exhausted energy storage. Connor wanted to scream out in frustration, let his vocal synthesizer break every single window in Hanks house and deafen his acoustic sensors rather than accept what he’d heard.

He just wanted you to look at him the way you had again. When he’d stood before you as what he was. As who he was. Only one more time.

He gently pried himself away from you, relishing in the way you wouldn’t allow him to, and then he pressed his lips to yours.

You whimpered and closed the distance between you by hastily lunging for his proximity. He almost tasted like nothing, you noticed dimly. But there was a nondescript aroma, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, only distinctly describable as aseptic residing in his mouth that made you crave for more. He also lacked salvia, and the texture of his tongue was slightly smoother than yours. But the warmth spreading into you made it hard to manage any coherent thought anyway, so you ignored the information your brain was trying to provide and licked the roof of his mouth teasingly.

Again, you were hit with a cruel feeling of deja-vu, although you knew it was impossible for him to be your Connor since he’d died that day.  Since you’d seen him die with your own eyes.

And yes, you were aware of the fact that you were projecting. It was logical and a defense mechanism after all. Grieving over a lost one and the like. You knew that using him to fulfill your shimmering hope wasn’t fair to either of you, especially to him, since he was supposed to be an uninvolved, third party.

Still, something shot up the back of your neck as his tongue brushed over yours, so unbelievably addicting that you didn’t even consider to part from him to catch your breath. You cursed yourself and your bloody hormones and then cursed him and his stupid lack thereof.

Fuck androids.

…

You were actually about to do that, weren’t you?

He heaved you onto the kitchen counter, mindlessly sweeping away some of the dishes stacked next to the sink, strong arms wrapping around your tighs in the progress and hands resting dangerously close to the zip of your pants. You willingly parted your legs to get him closer, scraping his back, breathing him in like a starved woman and biting his tongue, eliciting a small groan from him that made pleasure shoot up to the tips of your hair. God, you’d missed him so much. Needed him to the point of losing your mind. This was Connor, this was Connor, this was Connor. Yes, it was Connor. But not your Connor. Maybe, if you repeat it often enough, you’d believe your own lie.

You knew. You were sure. This was not your Connor.

Because you’d shot him yourself.

You braced both of your palms against his chest and pushed until he parted from you, instantaneously assaulted by the sight of his dilated lenses, disheveled hair and his hesitancy to let you go. It was difficult, but you managed to scoot away, avoiding to face him as those repressed memories residing somewhere in the back of your mind threatened to spill over.

“This is wrong,” you whispered.

He kept silent, although he probably understood what you meant.

Before you could jump off the counter and run because it was the only fucking thing you ever did, he took both of your lithe hands into his bigger ones, carefully caressing your veins and brushing his fingertips over your skin in a loving manner, freezing you in place, although your flight instinct gnawed at your mind. And then he turned your wrist and placed his lips over the fading scars, looking up to you beneath long, artificial eyelashes, making your heart miss a beat and stutter brutally.

Just this one time you wanted to give in. Only once.

You locked your fingers into the long strands of his silky hair. He made no attempt to stop you as you lightly pulled at them, prying him away from your skin.

“This is wrong, but I can’t stop,” you admitted quietly.

His subsequent smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Then don’t.”


	30. Swedish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of the smut-section (but it's also the only one that doesn't contain anything too dirty yet). I will upload all three of them today, in the timespan of a few hours. Stay tuned! :)

You crashed your lips to his’ and, although you theoretically couldn’t do so any better now, it felt as if you were finally able to breathe again, completed by the way his mouth moved against yours, tongues clashing in a small battle you weren’t going to win anyway. Not that it mattered much when you could feel his hands glide along your body and his skin pressing against yours, mind turning hazy at the sensation of his fingertips scraping your stomach playfully.

It was so easy to convince yourself that he was your Connor, tilting your head to grant him better access and enable him to intertwine your tongues even more, concurrently disabling your brain from functioning correctly and making it spew random nonsense. Like the fact that you were really proud you’d nailed the texture of his hair to this extent because you liked knotting your fingers into it. Or that you were really content that the guys at CyberLife had ridiculous ideas concerning the befitting penis length for an android. Or that you seriously questioned why the hell an android meant to aid with police work was this good at kissing.

He was analyzing, you were sure of that, the dulled light of his LED swirling to yellow piercing through your half-closed lids, your fingers still buried into his hair and tugging at the smooth strands in want. You were addicted. And you were completely lost in the pleasure that overshadowed the constant pain embedded in your chest.

One of his palms resting on your hips wandered downwards to cup the lower bit of your right thigh, pulling it up and you closer to him in the process, his clothed erection grinding against you with a lewd sound tumbling over your lips involuntarily. But there was no point in being ashamed of the noises that escaped you. They didn’t matter anyway. Your own, shaking hands wandered to the fly of your pants, aiming to open them anticlimactically and getting ready to wriggle out of the clothes to just get this over with and satiate the heat settling between your legs, but his warm palms suddenly placed on top of yours stopped you in the movement like a restraint.

He met your questioning gaze. And then he moved down, parting his fingers and allowing his teeth to clutch the metal of the zip in-between them while pulling it along with his mouth. You squeaked, quickly burning up in embarrassment despite yourself while trying to stop him by grabbing his collar. But that idiot didn’t halt, observing your reaction with unwavering focus and eyes directed at the blush settling on your cheeks, huffing at the way you locked your legs on his shoulders to stop him from continuing.

Connor, as per usual, wasn’t having any of it, breathing out deliberately heated steam against your lower abdomen and tentatively licking at the smooth flesh that awaited him there, as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants. He pulled until the material pooled around your ankles, baring you to his visual components completely. And then he licked his lips.

You were pretty sure you’d either die or come on the spot if you were confronted with this scandalous view ever again.

Instead, you bowed over his back, pushing your weight onto him as the muscles in your stomach constricted, painfully close to an actual orgasm but not quite there yet. In this position, your face was pressed into his jacket so you couldn’t see the self-satisfied grin that settled on his lips as he pulled the material down completely, leaving you only covered with a pair of…

boxers with lines of coding printed on them.

He snorted.

“Fuck off!” you bit. Your cheeks and the base of your neck were heating up because of the blush that settled there.

He whispered something unintelligible in response, and since he was already dangerously close to your core, you couldn’t stop the shudder that spread all over your body at that, causing his smugness to seep into the way he breathed against you once more. Then his fingers hooked around the material of your underwear too. He moved and made you lean back, coming up between your arms and looking at you, waiting patiently. You could only blink in bafflement.

_He was asking for your consent._

Despite everything that had happened, this gorgeous, innocent and irrevocably _stupid_ boy was asking for **you** to consent to **him** , although it should have been the other way around. It was ironic enough to make you want to tip your head back and howl with laughter because you were seconds from ruining his life more than you already had.

Yes, you would probably hate yourself for this decision, taking advantage of someone so pure in such a despicable way.

Then his index finger brushed against your wet core, causing you to clench around nothing and shake violently, while everything inside of you screamed to give in and not be such a stubborn bitch for a single time in your life. 

Well, if you were going to gain him in exchange, you’d hate yourself happily. So instead of an answer, you wordlessly kissed him again, shutting out the only voice that repeatedly told you what an awful human being you were.

You already knew that anyway.


	31. Latin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is smut. Don't like, don't read. (Although it's kinda important for the story and the character development since I have about 0 self-control.)

Connor took an internal snapshot of your current appearance before he returned to your lips to recapture them, content because you were almost unable to do much more than moaning around his probing tongue and clinging to him through the initial aftershocks. You were still dazed from your first high, so he ceased his teasing movements for a second, relishing in the way you clutched his clothing and seemed entirely out of your mind, just because he'd stimulated you orally. Your blush had deepened and your eyes were glistening, lips swollen by biting, kissing and sucking on the fingers he carefully pulled out of your folds. The android brought them up to his face subsequently and licked over the tips, tasting the substance that coated them while committing the exact chemical composition to his memory. Just like the distinct taste. He didn't want to risk forgetting anything concerning you ever again, so he immediately saved it into the backup he'd prepared, uploading it to one of the few still working CyberLife servers he had access to.

He was **[word search completed]** proud. Stupidly proud. Proud as if he had solved an obscure case, or completed a mission that had been deemed impossible by his supervisors. It had been a necessity to make you come, although a pleasant one, since he didn't produce any liquid like salvia by himself and couldn’t lubricate you accordingly, but despite the urgency, he was simply _proud_ of being able to make you reach a climax by using his tongue and fingers alone.

Also, the sight of his by now completely whitened digits disappearing in you had been quite alluring to him. A flawless connection between android kind and humanity. A flawless connection between you and him.

It was one of the reasons why he wasn’t going to be able to provide much more care from this point on. His trousers were already too tight for his liking, and his erection was straining against the clothing quite painful by now. Still, he would always have the time and endurance for a little teasing, even if he felt like his Thirium pump would burst any second now.

“Good?”, he mused against your throat, licking at the skin sloppily.

“Jerk,” you mused back, voice dazed and eyes unfocused.

Your belligerent tone made him chuckle as he freed his genital from the restricting material of his uniform and pressed it against you without further ado, causing you to whimper pitifully at the foreign contact. He was aware that his synthetical skin was slightly overheating, surpassing your displayed body heat by 3,42 degrees, but his ventilation systems weren’t working accordingly anymore, error-messages piling in on his interface and alerts exhausting his computing capacity. There was nothing he could do. And he honestly didn’t care. If it made you writhe against him like you did right now, pushing your pelvis against his thighs and rubbing them together, he wouldn’t mind spontaneously combusting either. 

His system informed him that his erection was aching and that he should seek release before the overheating managed to get hazardous to component #397.

He agreed.

And then, before either of you were prepared sufficiently, he pushed inside.

For some reason that was incomprehensible to him, his mind spiraled back to the first time you’d done this, remembering how awkward it had been and how afraid he was to hurt you by being careless. He also recalled how your snorts and giggles had turned into low moans and whimpers slowly, and the rush of electricity he'd felt when your sarcastic and clever quips became broken keens.

It was different this time. There was nothing to joke about, and he didn’t require his social relations program to inform him that you were tense. While you seemed to be focused on something in your mind, he was concentrated on you and wanted to be the only thing to consume you and your thoughts entirely. And this possessive behavior was easily explained: Although he didn't own you in the slightest, not even able to hold onto you despite you being in his arms right now, he was yours. Entirely. Irrevocably. So why weren't your irises focusing on him right now? Was he really that insignificant to you?

A hand moving to his pocket and wriggling around in it made his attention snap back to the present and the way you constricted around him; the warmth encircling his girth making one of his units spark in the back of his mind. You seemed to have found what you needed: The soft sound of a wrapper being ripped with your teeth filled his acoustic sensors only seconds later. Then your lips were on his, and you pushed something into his mouth with the tip of your tongue, moving your hips forward and making the skin of his thighs collide with your ass in a lewd smack.

He almost short-circuited.

Connor sucked in your wanton moan just like the piece of android candy you’d left him at the precinct. He was amazed at your ability to notice it was in his pocket all along, but then he decided that this occurrence wasn't something that required his attention, because you were causing him to lose his rationality as you pushed against him, establishing your own, rough rhythm, although he tried to keep you from doing so. Connor wasn’t thrusting inside you as much as you impaled yourself onto him, and every single one of his circuits shut down at the feeling of your insides rubbing along his cables and the pressure sensors along his length, setting off a high whine in his interface. You skin glid over him, the sweat or yours also slickening his, fingertips aimlessly brushing along his arms. He didn’t want that. He didn't want you to stifle your noises. He didn't want you to keep this so impersonal, withholding the raw emotion he had been craving for so desperately. 

You had hidden your face again, so he pulled your hands off your face in dismay, intending to seal your lips with another kiss.

But what he saw made the grip around your hips go bruising, halting your movements effectively no matter how hard you tried to get him to let you go.

You looked utterly mortified, tears running down your face, a blush settling on your features that wasn’t the aroused one he’d expected. You seemed to be ashamed, scared even. Your face one of so much pain that he couldn’t bear looking at it. It felt as if he was forcing you to have intercourse with him, and that thought alone made him try to pry himself away from you immediately.

"Don't you dare," you hissed, halting him in the motion.

Just "Don't you dare."

Connor started shaking, well aware you were running from him, well aware something wasn’t right and that your relationship to him - in the past and in the present - was a difficult one, where not everything that met the eye had to be true necessarily. But he felt as if he was the vilest creature on this planet, moving inside of you until you cried. You had been distraught, emotionally scarred, and he still decided to go along with this selfishly, although every single one of his embedded morale programs could've told him that this was wrong. 

He felt like dirt.

But you didn’t want him to stop.

“I’m going to move,” he warned you detachedly, focused on your expression, trying to keep himself from smashing something in close proximity or to tighten his grip too much and unintentionally hurt you, while something settled inside of his core unit. Something painful.

“You already were,” you answered, voice broken, tears running and head turned away.

One of his hands snaked under your sweater, pushing it up with his elbow as his fingertips reached the lace of your bra. He shoved it out of the way and brushed his thumb over one of your nipples, making you shiver involuntarily. 

"That was intended for you. Now it’s my turn.."

He pulled you to his chest, heaving you from the kitchen counter, arms wrapping around your legs granting him leverage. The Rk800 ignored your surprised gasp. He contemplated moving to a wall, using his estimation program to find the most suitable surface. But a quick reconstructional diagnostic informed him that he would be able to bear the strain of your weight without additional surface. But he would require to go into idle-mode afterwards, to cool his systems that would overheat even more critically. He might even fry some of his circuits in the process.

But that was a risk he was willing to take.

The android thurst up, pushing your body down simultaneously, observing how your mouth fell open and your eyes snapped shut, a pitiful keen escaping your throat as you constricted around him. A string of drool trickled out of the corner of your mouth and he lapped it up, drawing a line from your chin into your mouth, pressing his tongue flat against yours and pushing into you again, harshly, punishingly. He intended to pull you back into this reality by force.

That’s why he took up a bruising rhythm, making you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck as he doubled his pace, causing his processors to shut down one by one at the feeling of you around his cock. Again, his pelvis drifted upward, and again, he pulled your pliant body downward, while you shook to the very core by the harsh rhythm he was setting, mind blissfully blanking out, finally void of the ubiquitous voice that told you how despicable you were. The android pulled your head back by intertwining his fingers in your hair and tugging, making you bare your neck in the process. He registered that the blush had spread, but also receded in depth, now coloring your cheeks in a lovely shade of

**#F2B7B4**

mixing with your skin color beautifully. The crease of your forehead and scrunch of your eyebrows was softer now, the tears long spilled and fear replaced by something else. Instead of dread, pleasure settled on your features, a sight so rewarding that he actively had to keep himself from ravishing you even worse. His right hand cupped your breast gingerly, drawing lazy circles into the skin there as he continued his thrusts. A small whimper got caught in your throat, and the way you swallowed around it let him mouth at your clavicle, before biting down at the juncture between shoulder and neck viciously.

He was careful not to draw blood and sucked in the bruised skin afterwards, only opting for leaving a mark that would remind you of what he was to you whenever you encountered a mirror in the next few weeks. He was disgusted with himself for doing so without asking. But it was hardly fair anyway. You had left your mark on his soul, his very being, while he wasn’t even officially permitted to leave one on your body. 

His next thrust was harsh enough to hit something in you that made you see stars, causing you to yell and constrict around him so painfully that an electrical current shot up his spine and deactivated his ventilation systems entirely. He could keep himself from climaxing by biting down on his lip brutally. But a part of the damage had already been done.

**  
///Shutdown imminent.  
  
chronometrically estimated countdown: 7 minutes and 35 seconds/**

Connor didn’t care.

Your sweet moans drowned out this error message too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. It’s angsty. But if I’m going to give you smut, I’m going to make sure you’ll feel bad for enjoying it.


	32. Sanskrit

He was fucking into you so roughly that it caused a stark contrast to the loving embrace you had shared the first time to arise, but neither of you could really bring themselves to care about this circumstance. Especially not in that exact moment.

Instead, the android that hadn’t been designed with any sexual performances in mind noticed he was jealous of the Connor that had been allowed to witness all of the “fake” memories by your side, loving you thoroughly with you willingly reciprocating the tender touches and prolonged kisses, melting into him without feelings of guilt gnawing at the back of his thought processes. Because he was the version of himself that was thrusting into you in the middle of a kitchen that didn’t even belong to either of you, as if the act itself had no worth whatsoever and was only intended to release some pent up frustration in the least violent way you knew. It probably wasn’t the same in your case, but to him, holding you in his arms was enough to ease all the pain he felt, while simultaneously worsening it considerably. He was deeply conflicted, but also too aroused to focus his attention on the clashing feelings in his mind.

The negative thoughts kept piling up just like the system alerts. Both of them were equally obnoxious and caused a sneer to appear on his face. He stopped moving for a second, trying to collect his emotions for him to be able to get some sense into the cluster of differently inconsequential information that filled his interface, but you ruined his initial plan again.

“Fu-hu-uck Connor. Don’t just stop like that,” you forced out between clenched teeth, lashing out at him by burying your heel into his thigh and literally growling in the back of your throat. Connor blinked a few times, looking up at your angered expression with feigned innocence. 

Then he simply let go of your hips, making you plunge onto his member without the slightest semblance of mercy, while your shoulders tensed up and your head snapped back as a pitiful moan ripped out of your throat like the growl had only seconds prior. The young man noticed that his interface was blissfully empty afterwards, and had great difficulty to fight the treacherous smile that threatened to take over his features from that point on.

Again, he pulled out at a maddeningly slow pace, letting you hover over the tip of his member and acting as if he wasn’t taking pleasure in the way you trashed against his hold. “Smug… asshole,” you groaned, trying to get him to reenter by hooking your heels around his hips and bending your knees, but of course, he wasn’t urged on in the slightest.

 

Raising an eyebrow and meeting your annoyed gaze with a deadpan expression, he thrust back into you, causing new tears to spill out of your eyes at the friction, hugging you to his chest impossibly closer as if attempting to merge with you entirely. He tasted a few of the thick droplets rolling down to your chin by licking over the bridge of your nose, silently amused by their sweet taste, although there were minerals evidently contained in them that should have added to a salty flavor.  
  
 **// 6 minutes left. //**  
  
This message made him recall the initial problem he should be worrying about: A unavoidable shutdown was nearing with every passing second and there was nothing he could do about it. But was he really reckless enough to risk a forced system crash only to tease you a bit more, instead of doing the logical thing and stopping the intercourse, informing you about what was going to happen to him in a few minutes?  
  
Yes. 

 

Yes, the highly logical and completely rational android was reckless enough.

  
Your words were already slurred, interrupted by frequent moans and sharp intakes of air, but he had no difficulty deciphering what you were trying to tell him.

“Please, Connor just…”

The sentence broke off when he moved a bit again.

“Just what?”, he asked dumbly, unwavering although you were trashing in his grip and making it so much harder for him to retain from rutting into you like an animal in heat. You couldn’t help yourself and laughed, although - or maybe because - this situation was completely fucked. Literally. 

“Don’t be like this.”

But Connor still played his part, pressing against you gently, causing your folds to part beautifully around the tip of his member and taking another secret picture. You swatted out at him playfully. And at that moment, he was finally content, a relieved sigh escaping him as he nuzzled his nose into the curve of your neck. This was the way you were supposed to look at him, the way you were supposed to act around him. Because despite the tears in your eyes and the subsequent “Fuck you!” you were smiling at him fondly, effectively heating the cables that led to his core unit.

**// 4 minutes left. //**

He deactivated the foreboding countdown because there were better things he could concentrate on currently.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I don’t think I can compute your request. You need to specify,” he quipped, moving for another centimeter once more.

You groaned and swatted out at him again.

“You really are a smug bastard. I don’t remember anyone programming that shit into you, but if I find the person responsible for this, I’ll - _ah_ ”

He’d pulled back out again and effectively silenced your string of complaint since it was too coherent for his liking, until a hand clutched into his thigh halted him completely.

“If you don’t fuck me properly right now I’ll never speak to you again.”

What an empty threat. Both of you were aware that you’d try running after this was over anyways, mind already made up to never meet him again, so Connor only shrugged in response, continuing his assault on your fragile nerves and the muscles in your stomach that were already clenching painfully.

He could tell you gave up by the way you visibly slumped against him.

“Please Connor!”

The sound of you begging was something he found nice too, and so he complied and plunged into you, beginning where he had left off seconds prior.

Your breath fanned against his eyelashes. It wasn’t obligatory for him to circulate air anymore since his ventilation system had ceased to work already. That’s why he didn’t bother to keep up the illusion of his chest rising and falling. You didn’t seem to notice, or mind at all.

One arm wrapped around your hips to provide you with additional leverage, as his hand wandered upwards and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, the skin still faded to reveal the immaculate white beneath. You really didn’t mind. His thumb came to rest at the corner of your parted mouth. You sucked it in and thrust downwards, letting one of his circuits actually burn through at the sensation of your movement.

It was the social relations unit anyway, Connor didn’t give a shit.

(He would’ve noticed that you and Hank were a bad influence on his speech patterns if he hadn’t been previously engaged during that period of time.)

And the male was content. Because no matter how he looked at you right now, or how doubtful he had been before, this expression of yours was clear. And the kiss you pressed onto his lips told him of the love you held when your hips collided again and he sucked the supple skin of your neck into his mouth once more.

He thrust in one last time, and you shuddered, as his alerts blared up and he climaxed, hot electricity shooting through him while you clenched and unclenched around him irregularly. You moved your face towards the crook of his neck, biting down considerably more viciously than he had before, but only scraping the plastic beneath as his skin faded in favor of your assault. He made sure a mark would show by altering his skin-display program a bit, ridicuously happy at the fact that you had matching tokens of adoration now.

While both of you took a moment after blanking out from the bliss, you were licking at his neck lazily, hands locked into his hair and playing with the strands in a very intimate gesture.

He only had about 3 more minutes left, the tension in his joints already fading. But he still managed to pull you off before slumping against a wall, sliding down against it and seating you in his lap, while you continued to play with his hair, pressing little pecks to the specks of bared plastic you could reach. 

After gathering your breath, you pressed another kiss to his lips, loving, honest, every bit of disgust gone as if it hadn’t ever existed. But your gaze was clouded again, with that damned pain he wanted to eradicate out of your being forever, as you opened your mouth and started to ruin everything by talking again.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You don’t need to, because all of this is my fault. But I’m fixing it,“ you whispered against his lips. 

You weren’t helping him with your radical behaivior, but you didn’t seem to comprehend that. And Connor hadn’t got enough energy left to explain it to you. Explain how much he hurt, although he’d known that this would expect him.

“You’ll have forgotten me when you wake up. I’ll just be a minor mystery in your life, a missing piece of memory storage, and you will be able to go on. In peace.”

Fuck peace. He wanted you.

The you that made him curse, the you that made him lose his mind with need and the you that accepted him completely despite all of his flaws.

He wanted the you that was willing to hurt herself all over again by parting from his side although clearly not wanting to do so.

“Don’t ever forget that you’re alive.”

Ah, this again?

You bowed down to press a kiss to his overheated forehead.

“And that I love you.”

While he desperately fought to prolong his shutdown that was already overdue, you had fixed your hair and clothing a bit, washed your face in the kitchen sink and placed the dishes back to their former position, wiping down the area where you had been seated and throwing out the rag you’d used with bright red overshadowing your cheekbones. Then you stroke over his head one last time before making your way to the entrance.

He wasn’t able to tell you that you had made a mistake since he’d shut down every single one of his biocomponents except for his visual and acoustic sensors. He wouldn’t have, anyway. Because he hadn’t done what you wanted. Hadn’t swallowed it like you planned.

_Android candy._

The candy that was now sealed away in an internal canister usually holding the bits and pieces of evidence-based substances that shouldn’t mix with his Thirium whenever he consumed them. The candy that you had revalued with Red Ice, which obviously had a heavy toll on the sufficient workings of processing units and memory storages.

You’d tricked him once.

He wouldn’t have let you trick him twice.

So he let you go, content with the knowledge that after a short period of cooling time in idle mode, he’d be able to solve whatever mystery was surrounding you, without you being able to evade him anymore. Yes, Connor was pretty damn pleased with himself for estimating this scenario and being able to dispose of the candy prematurely, even though he’d been preoccupied with the undeniably addicting sensation of you wrapped around him at that moment.

But there was a single thing he really couldn’t have seen coming.

Connor did indeed shut down.

Although the door opened and an obviously distraught Hank barreled in, clearly muttering curses to himself before his gaze landed on his partner and you, dumbstruck for a solid second. Then his eyebrows shut up, voice carrying bafflement instead of anger:

“Oh what the fuck?”

And that’s how they’d ended up here, in this rather questionable position, with a knocked out Lieutenant leaned onto the sleeping frame of a certain android, one of them with his fly standing wide open and the other with a new trauma added to his resume.

You were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Hank


	33. Braille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the brevity of this chapter. There'll only be 39 official chapters, and a small thank you from me.

Connor – thankfully – woke up first.

He wasn’t entirely sure why you hadn’t bothered to keep his dignity intact and at least closed the fly of his pants, but then he remembered some of the multiple occasions when you had confronted him with your unique sense of humor, and just let it slide, labeling it as one of the unusual behaviorisms you kept displaying. Maybe it had slipped your mind. Or you had enjoyed his utterly disheveled appearance. But he could finally exclude the possibility of you disregarding him like a piece of plastic or scrap metal since you quite obviously held him dear in a way that surpassed mere empathy. Nobody would go through the trouble of bidding someone goodbye if they intended to let them forget they’d existed in the first place. And they wouldn’t spend a night with someone if it didn’t gain them an advantage, especially not if it was a person as calculating and determined as you. It seemed as if your rationality had fought against temptation and lost the battle.

He liked the thought of you adoring him more than your common sense intended. But he also disliked that fact that you seemed to be aware of it.

His system estimated a surprisingly short amount of time that had passed after his shutdown by logging into servers in close proximity, calculating your rough position with ease while simultaneously considering the current traffic situation in Detroit and adding the gathered information to his internal map. You hadn’t gotten far, especially if you had tried to keep your guard up. And he knew you had tried to cover your traces because he knew you, smiling to himself as his GPS triangulated a dark, red dot in the depiction of streets displayed by his interface, categorizing it under the hypernym of “obstinate idiot”.

He chuckled at a system warning that popped up and tried to interest him in the circuit that had been fried and currently disabled an entire unit of his programming. But he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care right now, still dazed by his recent high and incredibly smug about the preparations furthering so seamlessly. And that’s when he noticed that he was less rational than he’d initially assumed. Or he supposed it, at least. It could have been caused by you too, the way you had messed with his computing processes until he couldn’t tell right from wrong.

Had it been right to trick you? Was it fair? Did he make the right choice to follow you in secret, instead of placing himself by your side like he had originally intended to? Should he have tried a more reasonable approach with someone that had shown her unreasonably time after time again? Was it really wrong to act with your best interest in mind?

He wasn’t even dissecting his actions objectively. His own opinion was clear, even in the way he criticized himself.

It was quite human of him, to be acting this way. Thirium was surging through his cables, perfectly imitating excitement and letting his pump overheat slightly. Initial dread might’ve been a more fitting emotional approach. But he had caught the lie. He had almost caught you.

Because you had told him you would make him forget again.

What point was there in deleting memories, if they hadn’t been real from the start?  What point was there in doing this again and again, if you only seemed to end up hurting yourself, leaving him in blissful ignorance. Now he only had to find you, and that couldn’t pose as too much of a difficulty with the breadcrumbs you had unknowingly but undoubtedly left. And if he knew you as well as he assumed he did, he knew exactly where you had gone, and what you were about to do.

Stupidly. Obstinately. Lovingly.

Just to protect him like he’d tried to protect you. It hadn’t worked out the last time around either, so he was a bit amused by you replicating the same approach. But before he could break out of this cycle, he’d have to pay one of the old CyberLife vaults a quick visit. (After he’d tended to Hank and placed him next to a snoring Sumo, quickly scanning his vitals and reaching the conclusion that a bit of sleep - even if forced - would be beneficial to his health.)

Just to make entirely sure _ **.**_


	34. ?

Your previous jerkhead of a boss had forced you to kneel.

That’s why your cheek was currently pressed against the ground, arms bound behind your back and neck bend in a way that strained your already tense shoulders, but you really didn’t have any other choice if you wanted to watch his restless form moving around in the vast hall while you inevitably worsened your already degrading position just to be able to observe him out of the corner of your eye in the meantime. You hadn’t been surprised by his order to crouch down, honestly. The only form of relationship he’d ever built was based on complete submission and he wouldn’t settle for half-assed promises of loyalty; not even for contracts signed with blood or Thirium. If he wanted something, he got it. And since you repeatedly denied him access to one of his favorite projects, you were on the shit list till further notice. And your initials that were probably written on there in cursive must’ve been adorned with a turd doodled next to them by now. He was strange like that.

Another kick to the stomach let you see stars and the smile caused by your ridiculous thoughts slip from your lips.

“God, I really have the urge to start monologuing right now, but there’s really nothing I’ve got to tell you,” he hummed, an obnoxious expression of boredom plastered to his features. “Maybe I could call you a nasty bitch one more time, but I think we both know how much fucking trouble you caused me without me cursing for the next hour and a half, so let’s just get to the point and get rid of you, alright?”

 _Fair enough,_ you thought, because you were indeed aware of everything you’d done to harm him, the leader of a criminal organization, formerly specialized on drug distribution and android trafficking. One year ago, when the first disturbances caused by deviancy had reached the news, he’d been hired by the government, sure to take out anyone that got too close with those “machines” for their liking which - in this particular case - was the entirety of Detroit. And you had been part of the movement, hired off CyberLife shortly before its shares fell and a network of sponsors crumbled to ashes, the only people you considered family that remained alive used as an object of persuasion since you’d never seen yourself use your skills in parkour and hand to hand combat in such a brutal manner. Since you’d never imagined you’d be able to kill people one day, or even commit murder for a living.

But you’d loved Isobel D'Villier and Yoko - the Yk600 she had accidentally hit with her car - quite dearly, despite both of them having a rough start with the other, ending in more fights than reconciliations and sometimes even leaving entire rooms in disarray. Since Yoko had been cast out by the family that had bought her to be the perfect little friend for their own child (that soon found human playmates in the neighbourhood it liked more), nothing spoke against her moving in with your secluded aunt - that wasn’t related to you by blood but a lifetime of friendship. It resulted in a strange symbiosis that somehow worked out perfectly. The official anti-android campaign your aunt supported to the bone suddenly lost importance to her, while Yoko turned into something like her daughter after a while without either of them noticing it, or at least acknowledging the change in their relationship aloud.

Yes, you’d loved both of them dearly, especially after Yoko had displayed an incredible amount of craftsmanship and made your aunt a little Thirium ring as a token of thankfulness (although the accident that had brought them together surely had been Isobel’s fault in the first place) containing her own blue blood and feelings of adoration. They were happy, like this, and you were glad that you could watch over them and provide them with a little financial help whenever it was necessary.

In fear of your douchebag-boss hurting them after your betrayal, you had hidden Isobel and the Yk600 in a secluded hotel towards the countryside, begging them to stay there until the situation had calmed a bit and you’d found the assassin that was still on your’s and Connor’s trail. When you returned a few days after Connor had died, hit with grief and guilt and too many feelings that made you feel ironically numb, the sight you’d been confronted with was simply too much. Because Yoko had clung to your aunt and squeezed the life out of her lithe body, ribs cracking and lungs giving out with a last sigh, lips involuntarily twitching up when your aunt’s gaze fell to your for less than a second. Yoko’s eyes were blank. Whatever you’d seen in them before, it was gone now, another victim to the virus they tried to hide inside of Connor. The perfect example of what would happen when they got through with this plan of theirs.

It was obvious who’d done this, Yoko’s memory disc ripped out of her components and Thirium spilling everywhere, her small frame soon collapsing despite your attempts to stop the bleeding, because of the blood loss her little pump couldn’t compensate. They had made a daughter kill her own mother. And they had made sure you would see it, breaking your already destroyed mind until there was nothing left but the memory of _Connor_ and how you wished you’d just died in that goddamned lake. _  
_

You had barely managed to take the ring off Isobel before some asshole that was referred to as “Detective Reed” had rushed in and started his self-righteous speech while retaining you, although you clearly didn’t listen. You were apathetic from then on, not even gaining back your rational thoughts when they locked you up in a cell, carelessly spending hours there without moving or perking up at anything. But when you saw someone pass by the thick glass, that resembled Connor in such a scarily uncanny way, you just had to get out of there and confirm they were the same, double-taking with cruel hope curling in your stomach. And it had been him. You could tell. The spark in his eyes was something you’d recognize without fail, although you had been so sure of his death.

That’s why you had to tell yourself that this wasn’t your Connor. That’s why you had to keep him at a distance to keep him alive. Every single insult you send his way made your heart ache, and the look of pain on his face twisted your heart deeper into the shards that the death of your aunt and her android had left. But with every single look of disgust directed at him but meant for yourself, you could tell he was letting go. And the farther he got away from you, the better for him.

This time, the one you held dear was safe, virus cleared from his database just like the troublesome memories that would have made him rush back to danger just to protect your worthless, overdramatic ass that was meant to die from the start.

Your hand probed the restraints and you calculated whether you’d be able to get them off, but the easiest way to escape from your restrictions would be to simply pull your legs underneath your body and push the ropes tying one wrist to the other upwards. The knife that was taped to the lower bit of your chest hadn’t been found during the body-scan since your boss hadn’t bothered to search out of the usual hiding spots he knew in his stupid hubris.

Your smile returned.

Before you could die, you still had one last person to kill after all.

And then you’d go happily humming and sending one last middle finger to the cruel twist of fate that had ripped you from Connor’s side like this. Because fuck that shit. Seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but this is a bit rushed since I haven't got much time to write lately.
> 
> (Most of you kept yelling at the reader because of her dumbass behavior. I hope you’re able to understand her a bit better now. The Thirium-Ring mystery is solved too. Now there’s only few questions left to be answered and few things left to be said. Prepare!)


	35. Portugese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 chaps left my dudes.

You pushed yourself up in a single, fluent movement, jumping over your bound wrists and placing them in front of your body, palms slipping beneath your sweater as you lunged forward towards your ex-boss while aiming to slit his throat before he even noticed you'd gotten up. His back was turned to you momentarily, as he had a strange habit of hiding the action behind his hand whenever he lit his cigarettes, head angled away from a direction that would've enabled him to keep you within his sight. It was decidedly careless but also typical of him, so you didn't even consider the possibility that he could've made preparations if you decided to try and attack him.

That's why you almost weren't able to evade the shot angled at your forehead, although you saw the trigger flash up out of the corner of your eye. Throwing yourself to the side, you started looking around for cover but weren't able to find any since the hall was empty. You were expecting another shot to resound, you were expecting instantaneous death, but instead, a silent curse resounded, crudely echoing from the concrete walls. A girl you recognized as the second to best employee to this firm let the gun clatter to the ground, brushing her knuckles against her cheek and sneering. Of course, Connor wasn't around. But he would've recognized her as the timid but impertinent forensic scientist that had told him how much androids creeped her out during the investigation. You didn't and probably wouldn't ever know.

Getting rid of the additional traces of mind-altering substances in the Yk600's blood by adding Red Ice and boiling it for a second (the chemical reaction caused by this evaporated every single questionable liquid in the Thirium, while leaving behind the drug to make it seem less suspicious) had been a small job, as compared to your seemingly impossible annihilation. But she still was annoyed that the only task that your boss hadn't given you first included killing you. And she guessed that dick would've tasked you with that too, hadn't you decided to run away and fall in love with your most recent assignment beforehand. That was a pretty idiotic move, actually.  And ok, maybe she envied you a bit, that piece of plastic was admittedly rather hot, but that wouldn't have stopped her from putting a hole into your face.

"Go on, shoot her," the only male in the room ordered, pulling the thin stick from his lips while puffing out a line of smoke disinterestedly, already thinking about what he was going to have for dinner and how much the prime minister owed him at this point.

But she only clacked her tongue, staring at your crouched form since you hadn't decided your next line of action yet, obviously calculating the best way to cut your limbs off juncture by juncture without tear a nail or something equally disturbing.

"Can't," she finally sighed, "used all of them on her bitchass hubby. But you just had to call me here without telling me what for, so sir..."

A perched up eyebrow from him, and every single complaint she might've added died on her lips. You noticed that she was entirely whipped and snorted at the irony of the situation until you realized who the only person around you that fit her oddly specific criteria ("your hubby") was. But you knew that Connor couldn't be here. You had made sure that he wouldn't find this place ever again, hadn't you? And you had left him with the detective. Surely, that guy would have some questions to ask too, before he let his partner go save the world, although you were sure his partner wouldn't even be able to remember that he had to save the world in the first place.

"Ugh, did you finish him at least?"

Her silence was answer enough.

Then a small: "I'm sorry, sir."

At this moment, you were able to hear shouting and shooting from somewhere close, immediately left from you, making both you and your boss wince for entirely different reasons.

"Ah damn, cleaning blood off the walls is annoying." is what he thought in reaction.

"I'm going to kill that idiot if he doesn't manage to get himself deactivated faster.", you swore to yourself.

But your words were lies. Obviously.

You were glad. Stupidly so.

And that's because you were selfish enough to want him to remember what you had gone through, selfish enough to keep wishing that this would have a happy ending. But it didn't seem like the author had planned one for the both of you, as one of your colleagues finally lashed out from her vantage point next to the sole entrance, muttering something along the lines of "doing it the old way". You only called her second to best, because she wasn't quite as fast as you. But she also wasn't quite as sore as you were, so your endurance and pace should equal, adding out every single advantage one of you could've had over the other.

You damned Connor under your breath. Not that you regretted anything that happened back in the kitchen anymore since it had been well worth it. But your swollen thighs were rubbing against each other painfully with every movement. You could feel the outline of his grip on your hips.

While she lunged out at you with one of the jagdkommando tri daggers that you had made popular during the last heist, you frantically tried to remember her preferred fighting style, coming up with nothing. You'd never officially fought against each other (except for that one game of poker last April), so the only option of comparison were the elaborate firm-rankings and missions assigned to either of you. You were only number one in statistics, and as her first movement almost cut your throat, grazing the skin dangerously, you also knew why. This was going to be difficult, wasn't it?

In the meantime, your boss was gingerly smoking, obviously caught in-between whatever was going on outside that door and inside this hall. His best option was for ms. second place to win, so he had to await that outcome if he didn't want to jump out of a five-story high window. And you begged whatever omnipotent thing chilling out wherever to place Connor on the other side of the wall to your left. Then you remembered how that would make everything worse and hastily took your wish back, but hearing him yell out your name only seconds later made you scoff at whatever being had fulfilled your wish so quickly.

Fucking hell, Connor had really managed to trick you somehow. Maybe you should've taken into account that he was a highly intelligent machine built to find and connect evidence. You tended to forget that. Especially after you'd seen him lick at a window once, because he'd been "curious about the chemical composition of the trace substances gathering there" or something like that.

"Make sure to finish the android after you're done," your boss ordered.

And somehow, that sentence was all it took to make you snap.


	36. Pawnee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll are pacifist, cuz I'm about to misbehave.

It felt a bit ridiculous, both of you slashing at each other with daggers that weren’t even long enough to surpass your lower arm in size. But to every uninvolved onlooker, this was a deadly match, as swift cuts flew through the air, only barely missing their targets - namely your aorta - every single time. Compared to her’s, your small knife was pretty childish anyway, as her Jagdkommando-Tri would leave a wound practically impossible to seal, clashing open in an unfortunately triangular form (just like its name suggested), while yours would… hurt a bit (ignoring the possibility of you shoving it into her eyeball and effectively taking her out in the process). Once she had that thing rammed anywhere into your body, it would be over for you. So you were pretty glad you managed to catch her by the elbow before she could plunge it anywhere inside of your body and end this battle anticlimactically. Both of you shared a second of mutual eye-contact. Then you raised an eyebrow. She escaped your grip and lunged forward again, granting neither of you a much-needed pause to form a strategy. Even if it was only a rough one.

There were noises. Small noises, but noises nonetheless. Most of them quick breaths and the sound of blades gliding through carefully hidden patterns, mingling together in a weirdly pleasing melody. You had learned many different fighting techniques and stances through the years, most of them chaining together in a convoluted blur, while you were desperately trying to stay alive without actively aiming for her vitals. Yes, you still hadn’t learned. You honestly blamed puppy-dog-eyed Connor for it.

Your boss was busy exhaling smoke in the background without minding either of you as if none of this concerned him (What a dickhead. Seriously.) and your former colleague managed to sever a strand of your hair, because you wasted valuable time scoffing at the male, evading her attack by throwing yourself flat to the ground undignifiedly. She had almost turned you into another Van Gogh by cutting your ear off before. What a dickhead part 2. Seriously.

Thoroughly spited, you angled a kick upwards to her lady-parts but missed them by a mile since she sidestepped. Your foe retaliated by aiming a kick towards your throat, missing it only by a hairbreadth. She was evidently starting to fight dirty.

That’s why you felt about zero guilt as you pushed your weapon into her upper thigh and made her flinch (they’d taught you how to retain yourself from screaming when hurt by hurting you until you stopped screaming). In lieu, you lost your already weakened grip on the small dagger. It remained stuck for a second till she moved back and pulled it out with a frown, now angeling both blades towards herself while facing you with blood trickling down from the newly added wound. And man did she look pissed. You had to swallow at the glimmer you saw in her eyes, trying your best to retain yourself from flinching.

“Well you done fuck up, didn’t cha?”, quipped the third party in vicinity disinterestedly. 

He wasn’t even looking here. How did he even DO that?

It didn’t matter since you should start looking here in his place, because you, unfortunately, couldn’t DO whatever he was currently doing and because a rather lethal assassin was about two inches from your throat. A kick to the shin and another one angled to her wrist should’ve knocked one of the blades out of her hands. Instead, it enabled her to swipe out at you and cut deep into the arm you’d swung along for leverage, leaving you enough time to pack a punch straight to her face and break her nose along with your thumb since you hadn’t got enough time to clench your fist correctly. Both of you winced. Neither of you cared.

As tears shot into her eyes instinctively and blurred her vision, your foot swiped out beneath her, toppling both of you over as you gripped her shoulder - with the arm whose muscles hadn’t been severed - and dislocated the joint, letting her yelp out despite yourselves and the training you had both gone through.

Then you killed her, by simply hoisting her upper body upwards and letting the back of her head collide with the ground, adding most of your weight on top of it and gritting your teeth at the sound of the impact.

Maybe you should feel bad, but it had pretty much been only a necessity.

Letting her life would’ve been really fucking stupid, so…

You could practically see Connor’s disappointed expression and rolled your eyes, immediately checking her pulse while baring your tongue at the imaginary android.

Oh thank fucking god, she was still breathing.

After the initial moment of relief you stood up, ready to finally kill the boss (movie-pun not intended), but before you could, the only door leading into this room opened and a heavily battered Connor rushed in, drenched in blue and red blood alike, a scary glint in his eyes as his gaze settled on the scene laid out in front of him. It was kind of ironic. As soon as he saw the obviously unconscious and probably dead girl, his back straightened considerably while he tilted his chin higher. He seemed almost proud. Where was the puppy stare when you needed it to hold onto your fragile moral values?

“Sorry for not knocking, but the staff misbehaved a bit so I lost my manners.”, he mused, and you just wanted him to keep talking right now. 

His tone was deliberately deepened and a predatory smile tugged at his lips, while you were pretty sure that you shouldn’t find this as attractive as you did, because you wanted to rush towards and hug him, laugh for being so stupid and coming here on your own, exchanging your life for Connors well-being by acting as if you hadn’t deleted the virus in the first place.

But obviously, evil incarnate was having none of it.

“Well then I suppose you find your manners again real quickly, or I’ll have to fry your circuits.”

And then he pulled out a remote you recognized in seconds.

A remote that made you gag in recognition. 

You weren’t really sure who said it, but someone did.

_“Shit.”_


	37. Tagalog

"You're bluffing.", you stated, voice shaking too harshly to be able to convince anyone including yourself of what you so desperately hoped to be true, as you stared at the only thing that was now separating you from Connor, and threatened to do so forever.

A dread that should've been foreign but was already well known to you settled in the base of your neck, crawling up towards your nape and clawing at the skin there, causing your entire body to spasm. Your eyes fell shut and your hand shot up towards your temple. Hot pain pulsated through it in an unreasonable pace. It hurt. But the following realization caused you more pain than a simple headache ever could.

He wasn't bluffing. You knew for a fact that he wasn't.

The inconspicuous remote shone in a bright, clinical white against his palm when you opened your eyes again. It blinded you. His thumb was brushing along its underside in a way you'd expect someone to embrace their lover or a person they held dear; in a way, you remembered Connor's touch lingering behind on your hips. In the same manner that his lips had ghosted over the pulse of your throat and his smooth palms had settled on your thighs as he...

Not the point, getting sidetracked.

You noticed that the android had gone unnaturally still in the meantime; his gaze affixed to you and only you. You could feel it burn into your bones, just like the hysterical laughter that threatened to spill out of your throat at the irony of this entire situation. By trying to save Connor, you had only made everything worse. You had practically bow-wrapped and delivered the Rk800 to your boss' doorstep after all. Like an oblation.

And yes, you had repaired most of his cables inlaid beneath the marks the handcuffs had left, but you had also been unable to get rid of the metal alloy that had been additionally settled into his circuits for a reason you hadn't been able to comprehend. Trying to clean it off the sensitive wiring would have surely harmed the adjacent units, so you'd just left them alone with a shrug. With a half-assed shrug, goddamnit.

The pattern that adorned his wrist was a small remainder of that. A remainder of your stupidity. There had been a foreign, highly dangerous matter attached to his main power source, and you just let it be. The reason your boss hadn't come after either of you that quickly, was because of this reassurance he had. Because he was able to shut Connor down whenever he wanted. You had been aware that he always found a way out, so why had you ignored it so deliberately this time? Why the fuck did you have to be such an idiot?

Your boss sounded rather nonchalant as he told you to kill yourself, effectively halting your self-reprimation with a kind smile, letting you double-take because you were sure that you must've misheard him. But you hadn't.

"Look, darling. You either cut your cute head right off or I'll be forced to fry his software. You know the deal. It's totally something personal. Bla bla. Just get it over with, I've got a date in an hour."

Somehow, the fact that he couldn't differentiate between soft- and hardware was hysterical and hysteric at the same time, making you bark out a single laugh in disbelieve. Ironically, there wasn't even the slightest amount of ill intend embedded in his expression, nor in his words. He merely seemed proud at having outsmarted you, maybe even slightly entertained at how well everything had played out. The knowledge that he could either render Connor unconscious or crank the lever up and kill him immediately was just another fact to your boss. Like gravity. Or 1+1=2. Your hand twitched with the urge to wrap itself around his neck and press down until he stopped breathing, despite the knowledge that he too was only following orders.

And after everything, the choice he had given you wasn't a hard one. Although it was a decisively shitty one, nothing about it was difficult. You had long since decided that his life would always be worth more to you than your own, no matter how sappy it sounded. It was as simple as that. Like gravity. Or 1+1=2.

Sneering at the major dickhead that was still smiling sweetly, you pressed your knife to your neck, seconds from slitting your own throat without as much as batting an eyelash.

But something that shot past you made you halt in the process.

Before Connor could reach the other male, your boss had already pressed his thumb and the button it had rested on along with it down. Anticlimactically. Without further ado. Just like that. He simply pressed his finger onto a button. Nothing more. Nothing less. Such a small movement. You were kind of mesmerized for a single moment of illogical apathy, watching instead of finishing the last task that had been assigned to you.

It didn't even cause much of a noise. Just a little "bzt". You barely saw how Connors body went rigid out of the corner of your eye. How it fell forward. How it collided with the ground. _Like a ragdoll_ , you thought detachedly. Like something that hadn't been alive in the first place.

And then, only after he'd been killed so easily, you finally snapped.

"Aw shit," the asshole sighed, seconds before you hit him with the entirety of your body mass and toppled both of you over, pulling him down by his hair. And you bit at him, burried your nails deep into his flesh, broke a few of them. Like a girl taking part in a schoolyard bitchfight. The only difference was that it took you less than a minute to wrap your thighs around his neck despite his frantic squirms and twist them with a satisfactory crack resounding afterwards, turning his futile attempts at resistance into limp extremeties. You made sure his pulse was dying down (it always took a while until their hearts stopped beating). Then you let him lie there and returned to Connors side, reaching out for his head and pulling him onto your lap.

You couldn't make a noise. It was eerily quiet, although you heard the electric current that had destroyed his thorium pump and processing unit resound in your head at a deafening volume. He probably hadn't felt much of it either, but you were positive you were dying alongside him. You couldn't breathe. The tears wouldn't come out. Cradling him, your blank stare was attached to the dip of his cheeks, not quite a dimple but almost there.

Then you bowed down to his ear and whispered: "Wake up."

He didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me.


	38. End

They had needed Connor to upload a virus into the police network, subsequently causing a blackout that would spread through the entirety of the adjacent precincts and destroy the self-determinative abilities of multiple androids, just like the positive public opinion on either of them in the progress. A rogue police android was bound to attract more attention than a garbage worker of the same kind, and your clients were well aware of that fact, aiming to defame sentient machinery and their sympathizers for differing reasons. Only one motive was recurring regularly in the mindset of the more or less villainous asshats that had required your services. Namely: money. Not that you had cared before. Not that you cared now. But that knowledge never failed to make bile rise in your throat whenever you recalled it.

One of your former colleagues (that was currently sprawled on the floor in unconsciousness) had decided to have a bit of fun with you in your drugged state back then, using a deactivated Rk800 model adorned with the serial number 60 to her own sick amusement. She'd shot it by wrapping your hand around the trigger and pulling it back forcedly. You had been too weak to fight her. That's why you thought you had shot Connor in the head. And that's why you had been broken beyond repair, seconds before you passed out, only to wake up somewhere next to a highway hours later. Unable to cry.

They merely left you a note written on a tissue, bound to your little with a neat tie that made you want to rip the digit off along with it.

 _Too late_ , had been written onto the creamy white surface.

_Too late._

They hadn't even left you with enough time to launch into a full panic as you remembered with what they had blackmailed you. With whom they had blackmailed you. And when you got to the hotel you'd hidden them the blackmail-material in, they were already dead, lovely Yoko embracing Isobel almost mockingly, her memory card ripped out and some drug added into her system to make the assassination look like a system-error induced murder.

As you sat there (you couldn't recall when your legs had given out), keeping yourself from cradling the corpses by force, a henchman stood beside you patiently. He waited. But he didn't pity you since he was only doing his job. All of them had only done their jobs. Except for you.

"The police will be here in 5 minutes. The Rk800 and its Lieutenant got assigned to this case. You better not mess this up a second time. Make sure it uploads the virus and delete its memory afterwards. The boss might consider letting you live then."

You both knew the boss wasn't considering jack-shit.

It isn't your Connor, you had tried to tell yourself when the police reached the crime scene and led you away in handcuffs. It would be ok, it wasn't your Connor after all. You would shoot the imposter with his own weapon and fuck your boss over one last time. Dying with a middle finger outstretched to his pretentious visage wasn't the worst way you could imagine yourself going.

And you had tried to seem easygoing, to act a bit crazy, buy donuts, spew random nonsense and smile before killing the android as soon as you got a hold of a weapon one of the Detectives wasn't keeping a close watch on. But when your eyes met, you couldn't, and the android candy you had been carrying around since last week practically burned a hole into your pants.

Because you saw the depth in his gaze that still made goosebumps arise on your skin. Because you would recognize that fucker anywhere, no matter how many other guys had been designed with the same face. You'd snapped at him, in fear, frustration and pure exhaustion because everything was going wrong and you were tired and this was hard and you just wanted to fucking die. And because he was somehow alive. Because he'd managed to survive. And you finally had a chance to save him without anything to lose.

You'd give up your life for him immediately. So giving up your love by making him despise or at least dislike you was just as easy (although it tore apart what was left of your fragile sanity).

But you had failed because of your stupid need to hold him close. His life, a life that was worth more than yours, was gone now. And it was all your fault. All you were left with was a life that didn't mean anything anymore.

You tried to get up and leave his corpse behind. The police wouldn't let you kill yourself after they got here, and you honestly didn't have anything else to do at this point. Except for your taxes, maybe.

But you couldn't.

So you didn't.

*

*

*

"Ok, so, Johnathan gets a call by one of the secretaries there, and she just goes " _everyone's dead_ " in this really high pitched voice, and of course we're dispatched right in the middle of our break. It's right around the corner from our favorite hangout and that's why me and Rodriquez showed up first and you know what? That chick was right? Like, bro, I didn't see that much bloodshed back when the revolution was still a thing. Not even on that one boat - Jerko or something - you get what I'm saying? So there's human and android corpses spilled like fucking party decorations, and guess who we find: the same chick we retained that morning in the hotel murder case. Like? How did she even get out of the cell? Didn't the guys at the precinct lock her up before they went AWOL?"

Hank passed the group of Detectives busying themselves with mindless chatter, trying to ignore every single word but - of course - failing miserably.

"And guess what! She was holding fucking Connor. Yes! Connor! Whatever was up with that guy after that one time he disappeared, now it's completely over for him, man. I literally almost liked that guy, but he lagged pretty bad after they got him a new arm. And dude, that scene was just beyond messed up. Like, she was clutching onto him and not letting go. That bitch even HISSED at me when I tried to get to him, man, it was so creepy. We had to tase her two fucking times before she let go."

Some of the curious audience members shivered involuntarily. Hank clenched his fists intentionally.

_Ignore it. Ignore them. It's bullshit anyway. Connor ain't dead. Right?_

Hank entered the interrogation room and didn't look up until he sat down opposite you. He wasn't authorized to lead any kind of questioning, but fuck authorization. And fuck Fowler if he tried to whine about it later. And fuck his entire job anyways. He needed to know where fucking Connor was. Not even cursing helped him let off some steam right now.

But when Hank looked up and took in your appearance, a dread settled in his stomach that made any other coherent thought pretty much impossible. Your gaze was unfocused. You looked like a living corpse. Hank registered (with some kind of sick amusement) that he probably looked the same. But he didn't let the thought reach him. Connor wasn't dead. He couldn't be. It wasn't as much of a feeling in defiance but an assuredness. There was no way the android had died like that after the multiple close calls they shared. No way this fucked up planet hadn't got more in store for the annoying piece of plastic, nope!

"I'm sorry for knocking you out," you whispered suddenly, a harsh noise that cut through the silence that had settled between you and had lasted way longer than either of you assumed. Although it was mumbled and almost unintelligible, he understood you. Understood that you must have had a reason. So he accepted your seemingly honest apology with a shrug. Despite everything. Because somehow, Connors happiness seemed proportionally related with his relationship to you, and Hank wouldn't hold any grudges for the android's sake, although he was admittedly pissed that he didn't know which horizontal surface his partner had bent you over earlier. He would have to disinfect the entire damn house.

"You've got a lot to tell me, don't you?", he mused instead of pursuing his thoughts. He was exhausted, yes, but not broken. Far from it actually.

But you barely managed a small nod, uncried tears burning in your eyes, gaze void of anything that made it look alive.

And then you told him everything.

Until the tears finally fell.


	39. A/N

_I just wanted to thank you all for everything._

_And I hope you enjoyed._


	40. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, come on. You didn't really think I'd leave ya'll hanging like that, right?

In one of the abandoned CyberLife vaults, a server sprung to life rather quietly.

After their android-revolution caused crash, the engines should have spluttered and groaned in protest, coming to a stop only seconds upon their reactivation. But they only hummed lowly, uploading the information previously saved onto them in a steady rhythm, musing in something that might've been considered a strange song to some people but was mostly just systems rebooting in a haste.

An empty android vessel was hooked to the machine with several cables. A small "61" was etched to the end of its tag, slightly covered by dust and other neglectable particles. It had remained still since the day it had been built, never officially put to use until somebody had dragged it here and connected its fragile wiring to the supercomputer now smoothly running in the background. Until somebody made sure to leave a backup of his current consciousness behind too. Minutes later, the Rk800 opened his eyes, coding sequences and memories flashing in them simultaneously as he blinked and took his surroundings in. His gaze was unfocused. His own personality somehow blurred. He tried to get up and failed immediately, not used to the new components and onslaught of alerts spamming his interface, trying to gain a coherent understanding of whatever was going on right now. He definitely wasn't used to the feeling of urgency and raw emotion rushing through his circuits either, reaching out for something that wasn't there, fingers closing around nothing but air. It was hardly part of the protocol he'd been equipped with initially. Why was he acting like this? What was he doing here? Who was he?

Connor woke up.

Then he remembered.

And soon he snorted in amusement as he registered the latest warning his processing unit had provided seconds prior, pressing his hand over his eyes and noticing how liquid was running down his cheeks in an incomprehensible mixture of relief, happiness and sheer disbelieve.

Increased blood flow towards component **#396**?

_Why of course._

Connor cried while he noticed his erection that was already straining hard enough to hurt him physically.

And then, he started laughing.


End file.
